


Yaoi Emblem: Raunchiest Dawn

by FlamingDoritos



Category: Fire Emblem: Soen no Kiseki/Akatsuki no Megami | Fire Emblem Path of Radiance/Radiant Dawn
Genre: Crack Pairings, F/M, I guess technically some of these guys might be under 18 whoops, I hope I'm tagging all my pairings right jeez, M/M, Multi, This one contains heterosexual pairings also so please don't be mad about that
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-05
Updated: 2016-05-22
Packaged: 2018-05-18 08:28:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 28,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5913784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlamingDoritos/pseuds/FlamingDoritos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Radiant Dawn. Follow the many armies of Tellius as they go to war against the Goddess Ashera and fight for their country-and to get laid. All your favourite yaoi pairings (and some you won't expect at all) in one easy package. Sequel to Path of Raunchiness. Warning: contains het.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In which Edward has some feelings

_Just tell him._

The mantra had been repeating itself for hours, maybe days. The stupid little voice had started up in Edward’s head the night that he and Leonardo had bunked together and it hadn’t shut up since. It left him avoiding the archer’s gaze at meals and staring when he knew Leonardo wasn’t paying attention. It had him watching the way he strung his bow, fired his arrows. The careful way he fixed his hair in the mornings, or the way that he would check his reflection in passing shop windows when they weren’t hurried. It wasn’t that Leonardo was vain, exactly; he just took pride in his appearance. He kept his skin clean and bathed regularly and he always carried a vial of something-or-other that he used to keep his skin from cracking open in the cold winter months (Edward had laughed at him for it up until this past winter, when it had been so cold and dry that he’d gotten a terrible rash all over his arms and back). And when Leonardo would look over, Edward’s eyes would shoot to the sky, or the floor, or anything else, _anything_ to keep the blonde from suspecting that something was different.

It wasn’t his fault, not really. He was young, and it wasn’t as though he’d ever been in a proper relationship before, and the only girl around was Micaiah, and Sothe had given him a very pointed glare and told him that he had no chance, ever, not in a thousand years. And who was he to argue with Sothe, second-in-command of the Dawn Brigade, one of the heroes of the Mad King’s War, etcetera, etcetera?

But the issue of _what_ exactly to tell Leonardo remained. Simply mentioning that he had a pretty face out of the blue would almost certainly cause warning bells to go off in the archer’s head, and Edward was sure that if the rest of the Dawn Brigade caught wind of his attraction to Leo’s (soft delicate gentle touchable) looks he would never hear the end of it. And to make things even _more_ complicated was—

“Come on, Edward.”

He was wrenched from his thoughts rather abruptly. Micaiah was giving him The Look and he avoided her gaze.

“I’m thinking.”

She was tense and gripped her Light tome so hard he could see her fingers turning white. Whiter, really. “About what?”

“…how to get out of this alive.” He looked around. They couldn’t very well go back the way they’d come and now there were seven men between them and their exit. “We’ll have to tear straight through, won’t we?”

“Mm.” Micaiah nodded. They were running out of time; the men were headed straight for them. A fence on one side and crates stacked high on the other. The passage was narrow and her lips curved upwards. “Edward. You can handle them one at a time, can’t you?”

He fixed her with a look. “Of course. I’m not that new at fighting.”

“Good. Stay in front of me and make them angry.”

“I can do that.”

He ducked as the blade of an axe flew towards his head. A quick upward thrust had his sword lodged in the stomach, buried half to the hilt. Hot blood flowed down the blade and over his hands. He ignored it and shut his eyes. Behind him he heard Micaiah say something in Ancient and the telltale sound of a Light being used surrounded him. The bandit collapsed and Edward stepped over his corpse, Micaiah following.

“Come on, then,” he spat at the next in line. “Let’s see if you’re more of a challenge.”

They managed to cut down three more men before Edward was finally hit. A hand axe, flung hard enough to knock his sword from his hands, slicing cleanly into his left side. Micaiah screamed from behind him. A bandit cackled in the background and he felt Micaiah’s hands on him, the gathering of magics around her.

“No,” he breathed, but it was too late. She pulled the wound from him onto her own body and staggered, falling. Edward caught her with one hand and cursed. There wasn’t time for all of this. Yet another bandit was headed towards them and his sword lay far out of reach, having fallen when he was struck. Dammit. If Micaiah hadn’t healed him she might have been able to deal with the bandit instead. Now they were going to die. What a _stupid_ way to go.

There was the telltale snap of a bowstring. Not a second later the bandit howled in pain, the shaft of an arrow protruding from his stomach. Another two shots were fired in quick succession and the bandit fell. Edward looked up and saw blonde hair and a gentle grin. Micaiah shifted in his arms.

“Leonardo.” Her brow twitched with pain and the archer knelt next to them. “How did you find us?”

He smiled and pulled a vulnerary from the pouch at his waist. “A little bird told me. Yours, in fact.” His eyes darted up to Edward’s. “What were you _thinking_ , taking on these bandits alone? That’s beyond reckless.”

“We had no choice,” Micaiah said before Edward had a chance to answer. “We couldn’t just leave the villagers to these monsters.”

“Mm.” Leonardo smiled and helped her to her feet. “Well, come on, then.”

It was easier with three of them. Edward was still on the front line, but Leonardo was always behind him, not once missing a step and shooting arrows through every opening he could find. Micaiah could relax somewhat and instead focused her attention on healing them. When they reached the leader, she finally stepped forward.

“These people work hard to feed their families mere scraps.” Her eyes narrowed and she scowled at him. “Then you come along and steal what little they've earned.”

“Hey! I work hard too!” The leader grinned. “You want honest? Once I’ve caught and sold you, I’ll have earned an honest penny!”

He lunged forward, but Edward was quicker, blocking the attack with his blade. Leonardo released, sending an arrow flying into the man’s lower ribs. Micaiah was angry; Edward could feel her power crackling in the air and he was sure that Leonardo could too. The air around her hummed with energy and she lashed out. Edward didn’t manage to close his eyes in time and all he saw was a sheer, brilliant white light before everything went black. He wasn’t unconscious; he could still hear everything and feel the pressure of the axe on his blade slowly easing off. But his legs were starting to give out.

Again, Leonardo saved him. Another arrow whizzed past his head and Edward felt the spray of blood as it buried itself in the bandit’s throat. The axe clattered to the paving stones. Edward turned to what he hoped was Leonardo and grinned. Hands fell on his shoulders, squeezing slightly.

“I’m sorry I blinded you.” That was Micaiah on his right, her magic almost lazily drawing the ache from his sword arm. “You’ll be alright in a few minutes.”

“He’ll never be alright. He’s an idiot, remember?” There was Leonardo on his left. Edward took a breath to shout at him and the archer’s hand slid into his. Leonardo chuckled. “Don’t make that face. I know you can’t see.”

There was the sound of shouts coming from above them. Leonardo cursed softly. His grip tightened. “We mustn’t be caught. Make a break for it. Run.”

He let himself be pulled through the streets.

())CRAYOLA))>

 _Say something_.

But he couldn’t, not while Leonardo was so carefully bandaging his scraped arm and still gently scolding him for letting them get dragged into a fight. Instead, Edward gritted his teeth, said nothing, and pointedly did _not_ notice that Leonardo had three tiny freckles dotting his right temple.

())CRAYOLA))>

_You like him._

The thought came so abruptly, so out of the blue that Edward briefly wondered if he had even been the one to have it. Leonardo didn’t seem to take notice and continued speaking, this time commending him for a job well done even as he applied a vulnerary to Edward’s bruised ribs. The swordsman bit his lip hard and did _not_ notice how gentle Leonardo’s fingers were, how carefully the other teen worked, how sweetly the archer spoke to him when they were words of praise.

())CRAYOLA))>

 _Tell him_.

But he couldn’t do it now either, _especially_ not now that Leonardo was lying next to him on the cold ground. Briefly Edward lamented that he wasn’t as tall as Sothe or as small as Micaiah—the mage was curled up in her brother’s arms, his scarf looped around her shoulders and their legs entangled. Their blankets had been halfway kicked aside as they slept, but the cold night air clearly wasn’t bothering them in the least. Edward sighed. At least he’d be able to share some warmth that way, instead of back-to-back with the archer and trying very hard to come up with some reason that they should get closer.

He nearly jumped out of his skin when the blonde shook his shoulder. Leonardo chuckled softly.

“Didn’t mean to scare you,” he murmured. “I’m frozen through, Edward. And I am _not_ going to ask Nolan to help improve my situation.”

And Leonardo was wrapping his arms around him suddenly, nestling under his chin just as Micaiah was a few feet away with Sothe. Edward nearly forgot to breathe.

“I’m _cold_ , Edward,” Leonardo repeated, and then the archer’s chin dug into his chest and Edward bit his lip, tugging their blankets up and carefully, _carefully_ letting his arms settle around the other teen. The blonde was shivering and the archer burrowed ever further into his chest, nuzzling into the warmth of his neck and yawning. “There’s no shame in keeping warm.”

He let himself admit that Leonardo’s hands were bigger than he’d thought they would be, pressed against his back and spreading warmth and comfort.

())CRAYOLA))>

_He’s hurt._

And that had been enough to send Edward flying into the group of soldiers who surrounded his archer, completely oblivious to everyone’s warnings. Leonardo was pale, hands unsteady on his bow as he aimed. An arrow struck the soldier nearest Edward but it hadn’t been a clean shot. Edward’s sword found the gap in the man’s armor. He fell. A lance grazed his ribs and he twisted away, swinging haphazardly and somehow hitting his mark. Micaiah was screaming at him to stop, to get away and let Nolan handle things. Leonardo fell and Edward ignored Micaiah’s warnings, standing over the archer defiantly even as reinforcements surrounded them.

Leonardo’s clothing was streaked with blood, and at that moment Edward hated every one of Begnion’s soldiers, every person who would dare strike the archer of the Dawn Brigade.

())CRAYOLA))>

“You’ve been looking at me recently.”

Edward nearly choked on his dinner, and in the background he heard Nolan laughing. “I’m sorry?”

Leonardo shrugged. “You’ve been looking at me recently. And you’re talking to me less and less. Has something happened? Did I make you angry? Is there sand in my hair or some scar on my face I’m not aware of?” His fingertips traced over his left cheek as though he were checking for a mark.

“I haven’t been looking at you.”

“You’re lying.”

He could tell that Leonardo was grinning, even without looking. “I’ve just…”

“You’ve just what? I know you’re staring, Edward. You think I haven’t noticed, but I have. I want to know why you keep looking at me.”

“See, I’m secretly planning to make a jacket from your skin and I think—”

“ _Edward_.”

The swordsman let out frustrated growl and leaned in close enough that the others wouldn’t hear. “Because you’re pretty, alright? Prettier than Micaiah. People like to look a pretty things.” He could feel himself turning red. “And you’re really, really pretty. Like…like really, really.”

“Like beautiful?” Leonardo was grinning. His cheeks were tinged red, but he was still grinning. How was he still grinning?

“L-like—”

“So does that mean that you like me, then, or do you just need something pretty to look at because Sothe would kill you if you looked at Micaiah?”

And then Edward was silent because the truth was that maybe, just maybe, he did sort of like Leonardo, just a little bit. And as the silence wore on, the blonde seemed to realize. He turned a spectacular shade of red and stared at the sky, absently twirling his fork from finger to finger. “You…you don’t, do you?”

“I don’t know. I…maybe?” Edward groaned and slumped onto the table. “I don’t understand it myself.”

“…you realize that I’m man.”

“Mm.”

“And that you are too.”

“Mm.”

The blonde sighed and finally looked at him. “Well, whatever, then. If you want to look at me I guess it can’t be helped. But I can’t really say that the feeling is mutual, y’know? You’re like…you’re a good friend. Not really someone I’d want to…to court, necessarily.”

“I understand.” He had to fight to keep his voice steady. “I—”

“Don’t think about it too hard.” Leonardo downed the last of his stew and stood, grinning. “You might hurt yourself.”

“Mm.”

He decided that it was alright to notice that Leonardo’s ears were still bright red.

 


	2. In which an army is gathered

“ _You_.”

It had taken serious willpower for Sothe not to cut her throat right then and there. He hadn’t known what had happened to her after the sabotage, only that she had been gone by the time they had won the war and begun celebrating. Micaiah was looking at him incredulously.

“ _Sothe_ ,” she hissed, “you’re being _rude_.”

He mentally thanked Ashera that he was taller than she was, shoved her away (as gently as he could), and stood nearly nose to nose with Aimee.

“How on earth did you wind up _here_?”

She gave him a cold look. “I got out of prison half a year ago, thank you. I’ve been travelling with the caravan again. Until a few days ago. They captured me without a word and threw me back in here.”

Sothe couldn’t help smirking. “So you’re back where you belong, then.”

Micaiah punched him then, hard. It was unexpected and he nearly staggered from the blow. He opened his mouth to protest, to explain, but she gave him a withering look and he shut his mouth again. In moments she was apologizing profusely.

The other prisoner chuckled. Sothe could have sworn he looked familiar, but there really wasn’t time for this.

“We need to _leave_ ,” he emphasized over his sister’s frantic apologizing. “I grabbed a couple tomes for you but I don’t know if they’re the right kind.”

Almost immediately her face lit up, their manners forgotten. “This is a Thani. A new one. And—and where did you get a Shine?”

She glowed when she got new things, even if they were weapons. Sothe took the opportunity to pull her into a hug, ignoring the look on Aimee’s face. Micaiah squeezed him hard. She didn’t need to say anything; he knew.

_I forgive you_. _Butthead_.

())CRAYOLA))>

“I’m sorry to call you here like this. Forgive me.”

Micaiah didn’t meet Pelleas’ eyes. “It’s alright.”

He was hopeful, though. “Can I pour you some tea? Or is there something else you would prefer?”

“Tea is fine.”

The prince handed her a steaming cup. “It’s a special blend of Muston’s. I hope you like it.” Then he sighed and looked away from her. “I know you are angry with me. Please, forgive me.”

“Why did you stop showing up at meetings?”

“It…it was at Izuka’s request.”

Micaiah let out a frustrated growl. “You are the leader of this army! You cannot simply leave all the decisions to someone else!”

Pelleas’ head sank lower. “I’m sorry. I’ll ask Izuka before the next meeting. I need his permission to attend.” He sounded rather put out about this. Micaiah frowned.

“Why? You’re the prince. Why should you need _any_ man’s permission, much less your own advisor’s?”

Pelleas sighed and scrubbed a hand through his hair. “I am the prince but…I owe much to Izuka. He taught me everything I needed to know to become a proper member of the royal family. He contacted Tauroneo and the other senators from Daein for help. Without him, I never would have been able to muster an army. I wouldn’t have met my own mother.”

Micaiah was silent for a moment and sipped her tea. “I see. You were alone.”

He frowned. “Pardon?”

“And then he found your mother, gave you a place to stay, and provided you with a reason to live. And you feel like you owe him some sort of debt for ending your loneliness. That’s why you try to do as you are told. Because it’s as Izuka wishes.” Then she caught herself. “Ah! I’m sorry! That was inappropriate.”

He was grinning, though, widely, like she’d never seen him smile before. “You’re amazing!”

Micaiah frowned. “Amazing?”

“You really can read minds! You saw right through me!” He chuckled. “Ah, look at me, I’m sweating. I get too excited.”

He slid off his overcoat and rolled his sleeves up, fanning himself with one hand. A distinctly girly gesture. She paid it no mind, though. Her attention was focused on the mark. A twist of blood red on his right wrist.

His eyes caught hers. “What is it? You’re looking at me funny. Have I got something on my face?”

“That mark…what is it?”

To her surprise, Pelleas simply smiled. “Oh, that. It’s called the Spirit’s Protection. The source of all magic in this world is tied to the power of the spirits. I made a pact when I was younger, with a spirit. Its power is manifested in me now, and its mark is on my skin.” Then he shook his head. “But what am I saying? You already know all this. You have the Spirit’s Protection, too.”

_That_ sent ice into the pit of her stomach. “I’m sorry?”

“I saw you washing your hands the other day. I saw the mark when I walked up to say hello.”

“You saw—”

“I thought of confiding in you right away, but Mother called for me. I didn’t get a chance to tell you until now.” He was still smiling at her. “I never thought that I would meet someone else with a mark like this.”

“Do…do you think this mark is really the Spirit’s Protection?”

Pelleas looked taken aback. “Oh! So you didn’t enter into the pact yourself?”

“No.”

But there he was, smiling again. “So it must have been the spirit that wished to make a pact with you.”

“Pardon?”

“It’s a very rare phenomenon among newborns. Usually it happens to infants who have an exceptional talent for magic.” He sighed. “You truly are amazing, Micaiah.”

She didn’t look at him. “I don’t know about that.”

“Well, regardless, let’s keep this between the two of us. We don’t want people to confuse us with the Branded.” His voice took a distinctly sour tone.

“The Branded?”

He nodded. His face was serious. “I believe it refers to beorc who have laguz blood in their veins as well.” He must have mistaken the look on her face for something else. “I know! It’s hard to imagine someone with the blood of a sub-human in them. I’ve been terribly mistreated by people who thought I was one of the Branded.” Then he finally stopped talking. “I…Micaiah?”

She jumped. “Oh. I’m sorry.” She forced a smile. “I think I understand more about you now. And about the marks we share.”

Pelleas smiled and reached for her. His fingers pressed against her mark as he caught her hands over the table. “I’m glad I was able to tell you. To be honest, I’m surprised you didn’t know. It’s a relief, knowing that I have someone else who shares this mark.” He squeezed gently. “Come talk to me again sometime. I enjoy your company.”

Micaiah smiled. She squeezed his hands back. “Of course.”

For another mark they sat and drank tea and shared stories. Pelleas really _was_ a good man, even if he was a touch confused half the time. And he couldn’t be blamed; Izuka took control of every conversation before the prince could even draw breath.

Finally he deemed it to be getting late. Micaiah nearly refused but had yawned before she could get a word out. Pelleas laughed and shuffled through his things.

“Here. I wanted to give you this.” He paused as he rummaged. “If I can find where I put it.”

She laughed. “What is it?”

“It’s this—ouch!—splendid sword I recently acquired. It gives its—dear me—wielder the upper hand in battle.” There was another pause and a soft curse in Ancient. “Aha!” Pelleas stood and handed her the weapon. “Keep it for yourself or give it to whomever you like.”

Micaiah frowned. “Shouldn’t _you_ give it to the soldier _you_ deem most worthy?”

Pelleas shook his head. “No. I wouldn’t want the soldiers thinking that I’m giving anyone special treatment. It wouldn’t be appropriate. Or at least—”

“That’s what Izuka says.” She sighed softly but smiled. “I understand. You must have so much on your mind.”

“Indeed. I long for the old days when I was poor. I had few worries. It isn’t that I don’t appreciate meeting my mother and learning that I can do some good for the people of Daein, but…if someone came along and told me that I was not the true heir, that I were free to relax and let this weight off my chest…I do not think I would be terribly upset.”

“Prince Pelleas…”

He straightened. His eyes had a new light. “But I’ll keep fighting. I won’t stop until my country and its people are free once more. They need me. They need _us_ , Micaiah.”

Micaiah smiled. “You’re well on your way.”

())CRAYOLA))>

He was nearly asleep, Micaiah curled up nearby. She wasn’t asleep but she wasn’t speaking either. Instead she was staring at the fire. Something was on her mind but he didn’t ask what; she would tell him soon enough anyways. Briefly he thought about feigning sleep, but he knew it wouldn’t work. She knew him too well.

“I still want to know why you were so rude.”

Sothe nearly groaned. Instead he raised an eyebrow. “It’s been a week. I thought you weren’t mad at me anymore.”

She rolled over to look at him. “I’m not mad, but I want to know what she did to deserve such rude treatment.”

He was quiet for a moment. “During the Mad King’s War, she was one of our merchants. She was after the commander; everyone knew that. And she would flirt with him, or try and win him over with food, or give him discounts. Anything she thought might work. But what she didn’t seem to realize at first was that Ike was set on his staff officer. When she _did_ learn about them, she was furious.”

“Well, I can understand that,” Micaiah murmured. “But it’s no reason for you to be so angry with her. I mean, I realize that you’re a bit infatuated with Ike, but—”

“She poisoned him, Micaiah. Soren, the staff officer. She tried to kill our tactician because she wanted to win over Ike. Not because he was scheming against us, or a spy, or something like that. Because she wanted Ike. It’s nothing short of good fortune that they managed to heal him. It took everything that all of our healers had.”

“I—Sothe, that can’t be true.”

He snorted and rolled over. “If you ever meet Tormod, ask him. He’s the one who found what was left of the poison.” Then he couldn’t help being a smartass. “Why don’t you just read my mind? Not that you would need to. You’re my _sister_. Why would I lie to you?”

She huffed. “You know that’s not how it works.”

For a long time they were quiet. When he turned to look at her, she was pulling her blanket over, scooting closer to him.

“You still feel empty,” she murmured. “You need somebody.”

Sothe smiled and tried to make it look sincere. “I’m fine. I have you, don’t I?”

“You know that’s not what I mean.” Micaiah settled against him. “I want you to be happy. You’re my little brother. You deserve it, after everything you’ve helped us do in the past three years.”

“I’m fine without him, Micaiah.” He couldn’t help rolling his eyes. “Just because I haven’t managed another strong relationship doesn’t mean I’m incapable. I simply haven’t found the right person yet.”

“I worry about you, that’s all.” She was quiet for a moment. “You know that I get feelings. You two were good for each other. He made you happy. Without him it’s as though a great weight has settled in your chest.”

“I’m fine without him,” he repeated. Absently he played with the ends of her hair. “If it makes you feel any better, I did send him a letter recently to see how he’s been. Just between friends. You know.”

And Micaiah was smiling, looking up from where she’d nestled against his chest as though she knew something that he didn’t (which was the case, more often than not). “As long as I get to see you happy again.”

())CRAYOLA))>

So maybe, just _maybe_ , he’d been a little excited when he glimpsed red hair and green fur on the battlefield. Just maybe he’d bitten his lip to keep back a cry of joy.

Goddess, Tormod looked _beautiful_. All long limbs and a stronger jaw than the last time they’d met (one, two years ago? Sothe remembered that he’d written to Tormod, _written_ to him that things were clearly not working out between the two of them, that the whole long-distance thing wasn’t for him after all) and the same slightly crooked grin on his face. His voice had finally settled into something resembling a grown man’s and he still declared himself to be the greatest mage around, and as they edged nearer, Sothe resisted the urge to drop his arms around the redhead they way they had in a different time.

That time was long gone.

Instead, he swallowed hard and tried his best not to beam. “Hey, Tormod!”

“You! What in blazes did you do?! You scurvy _traitor_!” Tormod scowled at him. Not entirely what he’d expected. Sothe raised an eyebrow.

“What are you talking about?”

“You grew! Too tall!”

Tormod was gesturing with both arms now, windmilling them about as he raved. Sothe groaned. “And here I expected you to make sense. I’ve got more important things to do right now.”

“It’s important to _me_ ,” Tormod emphasized, jabbing a finger into the rogue’s chest. Sothe let the barest hint of a smile out.

“What I’d really like to hear about is that issue I wrote you about. How did it go?”

Tormod rolled his eyes, imitating Sothe’s previous tone. “I have news—oh, wait, _I’ve got more important things to do_. I’ll tell you later!”

He was sprinting off, fire streaming off his fingers as he tore into a group of archers before Sothe had time to respond. Sothe groaned and massaged his temples. A hand fell onto his shoulder and he jumped, half-expecting a lance to be protruding from his side or a knife at his throat. But it was only Muarim, chuckling.

“Little Sothe. You’ve grown up,” the tiger commented.

Sothe rolled his eyes. “Why does everybody keep saying that?”

“Hmm?”

“Calling me little.”

The tiger gave him a look and held his hands a distance apart, one at shoulder level and one at mid-chest, presumably indicating the fifteen inches that Sothe had grown since the war. “Oh, sorry. I guess I have to respect your manly pride now.” Muarim’s eyes were mischievous. “But I could never speak familiarly with my little one’s good friend. So, with your permission, ‘Sir Sothe’.”

The tiger was darting away as quickly as Tormod had as Sothe began cursing.

())CRAYOLA))>

Sothe hadn’t ever seen Tormod panic. Not really, anyways. He had worried during the Mad King’s War about this and that but he had never panicked; never been afraid to the point of losing his breath and crying.

He wasn’t sure what to make of it. Or how to really comfort the sage either; they had broken apart two years ago and he wasn’t sure if a hug was acceptable. But Sothe tentatively opened his arms and Tormod fell against him without hesitation, squeezing him tightly just as he used to. Micaiah looked at them and gave him a small smile.

_Aha, see? He does still like you_. Her expression was as easy to read as it always was, and he scowled.

“Come on. Take us to Muarim,” he murmured against Tormod’s hair. At once the sage took his hand and carted him away.

When they came across the tiger he was halfway between forms. Tormod fell to his knees next to Muarim and shook him, flinching away when his father snapped at him.

“Muarim! Get a hold of yourself! Look at me!”

Muarim’s eyes flickered open. “…gh…little…one…”

Tormod looked up at them desperately. “This happens over and over. Muarim suddenly transforms and he growls like he’s losing his mind. And if I…if I grab him and yell his name over and over again, he comes back, but then it just starts over. And—” he sniffled “—and when he’s growling, his eyes…it’s as if…as if one of _them_ is looking at me.”

Micaiah’s brow furrowed. “Them? One of them? One of who?”

Sothe knew, though. He dropped down next to Tormod and squeezed his shoulder. He let out a frustrated growl. Whether they were together or not, Tormod was still his friend.

“H-help him, _please_. I don’t know what to do. And the time between transformations is g-getting shorter and sh-shorter.”

Muarim reached for Tormod. “I…I can’t…Tormod, get away…”

“No! I’ll die before I let you go feral! Muarim!” The tiger’s eyes had glazed over. “Muarim! Look at me!”

It hurt to see the sage like this and Sothe pressed against him from behind, kissed the back of his neck and whispered that it was alright, that they would fix this. Tormod was shaking and sobbing and he gripped one of Sothe’s hands tightly, still begging Muarim to come back to him. The tiger was going fast, though, growling and baring his fangs at them.

Someone stepped in behind them and Sothe felt a pulse through the air. He recognized the voice as Rafiel’s but the melody was something he had heard only once before, from Reyson and Leanne at the very end of the Mad King’s War. He nearly didn’t recognize it. Muarim went tense. A blue glow settled around the tiger, pulsed red, and then vanished as quickly as it had appeared. The tiger collapsed.

“Muarim!” Tormod was still panicking. Rafiel knelt next to them, placing a hand on Tormod’s head.

“The galdr of rebirth restores twisted bodies and souls to their proper states.” The heron smiled. “He will be alright now.”

The sage sniffled. “Th…thank you. Without Muarim…life would be terrible.”

Sothe finally pulled away from the sage and Rafiel took his place, helping Tormod to his feet and offering him a cup of tea, asking if he needed anything. Nailah and Tauroneo were there too, lifting the tiger and carrying him to the cleric’s tent. Sothe glanced at Micaiah. She was pale and her hands were shaking. Sothe slipped an arm around her shoulders and she leaned into him.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“What was that song? It’s…I’m shaking. I’m glad Muarim will be alright! But…I…”

“It was the galdr of rebirth. I heard it once before, in the war.” Sothe leaned down and pressed his lips to her hair, drawing her close. “It’s powerful magic and you’re a powerful mage. It might have affected you a bit. You’d have to ask Rafiel.”

“Mm.” Then her brow set. “We need to tell Pelleas.”

“We should wait until—”

She gripped the front of his shirt and pulled him down so she could look him in the eye. She was absolutely livid, jaw clenched hard and magic stirring in the air around them. “This is not right. As commander of this army he needs to know as soon as possible. Whatever drug was used on Muarim could be used on Vika, or Rafiel, or Lady Nailah, or Volug. I am your older sister, Sothe, and you will _listen_ to me and do as I say. We are telling Pelleas and we are telling him _now_.”

Sothe swallowed. “Ma’am.”

())CRAYOLA))>

“Feral Ones?”

Sothe nodded. “In the Mad King’s War, Daein’s military developed living weapons. They were called Feral Ones. Laguz that had been warped and twisted by…by _terrible_ experiments. I saw the aftermath in the basement of Gritnea Tower. I nearly threw up on the spot. It was…horrific.”

“‘Horrific,’ you say!?” Izuka cut in front of the prince, shoving him out of the way as he always did. “Do you mean to refute the highly effective results of my brilliant research!?”

Micaiah’s eyes hardened. “Then it was you! You gave Muarim the drug to turn him into a Feral One!”

“And what’s wrong with that!? Maintaining constant battle strength in beast state…how splendid!”

Tormod pushed between Micaiah and Sothe. “How _dare_ you?! Transforming laguz into Feral Ones dramatically shortens their life spans! It utterly _destroys_ their sense of self and they do nothing but fight until they die! And _you_! You gave my _father_ that drug!!!”

“Pawns need no sense of self!” the other man raged. “It’s only natural to sacrifice soldiers for victory in war!”

Micaiah was next to Tormod now, leaning over the table and shouting. “You twisted maniac! You are the _lowest,_ most _vile_ —”

“Enough!”

They jumped and turned to Pelleas. He had fallen to his knees next to Tormod. “Look, Izuka clearly did a terrible thing to that sub-hum—that laguz, I apologize.” He looked up at the redhead. “Tormod. I am truly sorry. He will not use the drug again. His prince _orders_ him to dispose of the rest,” Pelleas added, sending a pointed glare at Izuka. “Please, Tormod. Try to forgive him.”

Izuka was furious. “My prince! We must not have royalty bowing and scraping before swine like—”

“That’s enough!” Tormod turned and fled. Sothe made to go after him but Micaiah caught his elbow.

“Let him go,” she murmured. “He needs some time to himself.”

())CRAYOLA))>

A mark later Sothe finally found the sage sitting alone under a tree. Wordlessly he sat next to Tormod. The redhead leaned on his shoulder and sighed.

“Thanks,” Tormod finally whispered. “Just for being there. It…it really helped.”

“Anytime,” Sothe replied. “Though hopefully next time it will not be in such horrible circumstances.”

Tormod chuckled softly and turned slightly, draping one arm over the rogue’s stomach. Sothe pulled him in just a touch closer and squeezed. They were silent for a long time.

“Do you remember the last time we sat like this?”

“Exactly like this?” Sothe frowned; why was Tormod asking him this?

“It was three years ago. We’d just…you-know.” Tormod flushed and grinned and Sothe couldn’t help smiling as well. He remembered this too well. “And Muarim came in and flipped out at us for being with each other.”

“And you grabbed me and we just took off.” Sothe laughed. “We ran straight through the war meeting, didn’t we? Ike looked ready to murder us until he realized we were being chased by an angry tiger.”

“Afterwards you carried me out where nobody would find us, and you sat under a tree and held me.” Tormod smiled. “Exactly like this.”

“Not exactly like this,” Sothe murmured. “We were…we hadn’t—”

“Hey, it’s fine.” Tormod sat up. “Things are different now; I get that. I’m just saying. It’s nice to finally be able to sit with you and talk without anyone else breathing down our necks or calling us away from each other. It’s good to hear your _voice_ , Sothe. Letters are good and all but I’d nearly forgotten what you sound like.”

“I…” Sothe sighed softly. “I kind of miss you, y’know?”

“I’m right here.”

“No. I miss—” he was bright red, he was _sure_ of it, “—I miss signing my letters with ‘I love you’ and I miss meeting up with you a few times a year and being able to hold you. I don’t know! I miss the stuff that we used to do, before we grew apart. And it wasn’t really that way until you showed up to help us in the prison camp. Then it all came at once. This huge rush. Does that make sense to you?”

Tormod chuckled. “Yeah. I know what you mean. I saw you and said to myself, ‘Tormod, you are an idiot for letting him go.’ But…” he shrugged. “I don’t know. You seem happy enough with Micaiah.”

Sothe shook his head. “No! No no no. She’s like…she’s like my big sister. My best friend. She found me when I was little and we grew up together. We hold hands and sleep next to each other and I kiss her on the cheek or whatever now and again, and I love her more than she’ll ever know but I don’t love her _that_ way. I love her…I guess I love her the way you love Muarim.”

“Ah.” The redhead had that look on his face, the one that said he was about to do something _stupid_. Sothe gave him a look.

“Tormod, don’t you _dare_.”

Tormod ignored him and leaned in and kissed him. Sothe resisted for all of two seconds before leaning into the sage and kissing him back. And the sage’s arms slid around him and Sothe leaned back, pulling the sage down with him. Hesitantly he parted his lips and Tormod took the bait, delving in.

Goddess, it had been too long.

By the time they noticed it was getting dark they were both half undressed and panting and grinding against one another, cursing the last of their clothes but not daring to push things further. Still, Sothe couldn’t help groaning; Tormod was straddling his hips, a fistful of his hair caught in one hand and the fingers of the other digging into his shoulder as they moved together. He hadn’t felt like this in nearly two years. There had been other boys, but none of them had taken the time to know his body quite as well as Tormod had.

Finally he pushed Tormod away. The sage was flushed and grinning and he leaned up to kiss Sothe.

“Considering,” he began, “how badly this afternoon started, I would say that this is a rather good way to finish.”

Sothe rolled his eyes but smiled. “I would say that we’ve probably missed dinner. It’s a miracle that Micaiah hasn’t come looking for us.” He sat up and looked for his shirt, somewhat dismayed when he saw it caught on a tree branch. “Come on. We should get going before someone comes across us.”

Tormod sighed. “I suppose.”

())CRAYOLA))>

When he got back to their tent, Micaiah looked at him, turned bright red, and then collapsed into giggles. He flushed.

“Your farsight cleared up for a bit there, didn’t it?” It wasn’t a question he really needed to ask.

Micaiah caught his hands and smiled. “I’m happy for you.”

 


	3. In which Edward learns some things

“Listen and be amazed!” Tormod grinned broadly and dropped into place next to Sothe. The thief’s arm absently found its way under his cloak, and on his other side Micaiah covered her mouth to suppress a giggle. Tormod felt his face heat and he swallowed hard before continuing. “ _Big_ news afoot. The apostle is sending an inspection team to investigate the occupation army’s abuses!”

“Really?!” Micaiah’s face lit up. 

Tormod tried hard not to stumble over his words as Sothe’s hand slipped into his back pocket, squeezing appreciatively. “She sent me a message that preparations are finally complete. But—hey!” He made a grab for the letter, briefly cursing himself for not realizing what the rogue had been up to, but Sothe darted away from him, grinning as he unfolded it. 

“She’s issued an imperial edict to the forces telling them to cease all military action immediately.”

The mage looked ready to burst from happiness. “Does that mean the fighting is over? That we’ve won?!”

Sothe nodded and swept her into his arms. “It looks like it. It’s hard to believe it’s over, but it must be.” 

“And best of all—” Tormod snatched the letter back and stuck his tongue out at Sothe “—Duke Persis is leading the inspection team! We’ll be home free the moment they arrive. Our worries are over.”

“So Sanaki’s dispatching one of the empire’s greatest men to handle things, then,” Sothe murmured, placing his sister back on the ground. “That’s good. He’s highly influential, but he never stood on ceremony when we met him.”

“So go on, then!” Tormod grinned. “Don’t just stand there, go spread the good news!”

Sothe eyed him carefully. “ _We_ have to spread the news? Aren’t you coming with us?”

“Nah, it’s mostly your doing anyway. We’ll hold back and let you take the glory.” It was too hard to explain that he hated Izuka, hated the way the man had been so desperate to conquer that he had nearly stolen Muarim away. Sothe had a vague idea of his feelings, but he’d never spoken of that night to anyone else, and Micaiah simply couldn’t understand—

“It’s Izuka, isn’t it?” Micaiah leaned into his line of sight, one eyebrow cocked ever so slightly. “You don’t want to come because he’ll be with the prince, and you’re still angry with him for ignoring your needs as a person and instead thinking only of defeating the occupation army.”

(in the back of his mind Tormod wondered how she’d done that)

“Well, y-yeah. Basically.”

She sighed and shook her head. “All right…but stay here! We’ll come right back once we’ve announced the good news.” 

She looked around and hurried away when she spotted Nolan. Sothe didn’t follow her, instead catching Tormod’s hand and ducking into the nearest supply tent. Then it was all hot kisses and wandering hands and—

“Fuuuck, Sothe,” Tormod groaned, digging his nails into the rogue’s arm as the other man nibbled his earlobe. “What’s gotten into you?”

Sothe chuckled, pressing open-mouthed kisses onto the sage’s neck, undoing the clasp that held his cloak together and letting it fall to the ground. “I’m happy.” His hands were nimble and Tormod’s belt joined his cloak moments later, and he was smiling as he lay on the ground behind a stack of crates. “You’ve exceeded my wildest expectations.” 

Briefly, Tormod decided that he should be annoyed by the implication there, but Sothe was sprawled on top of his cloak and smiling the way he never did for anyone else, and it would have been a waste not to take the opportunity. Instead, he straddled the rogue’s hips, chuckling as Sothe dragged him down to kiss him again. The thief was hard, rocking against him and gripping his hips, and Tormod  _knew_ he was bright red when he vocalized (or at least attempted to vocalize) what they were both thinking. 

“I—Sothe, I really want—that is, could we—I mean, do you want to—”

“Yes,” Sothe purred, teeth scraping against the redhead’s neck. “Absolutely. I _miss_ you, Tormod. It’s been so long. I want to feel you and be with you and know that nobody else has known you the way I do.” 

The sage swallowed. “I’d—I’d really like that.” He chuckled as Sothe kissed him again. “But maybe not  _here_ .”

“Why not?” The rogue’s mouth trailed down his neck again, and he knew that Sothe had to be grinning. “We’re hidden.” 

“Until the first person who comes in happens to hear something, or smell something, or we get too enthusiastic and knock something over,” Tormod replied. Mentally he applauded himself for not letting his voice catch in his throat as the rogue nibbled his earlobe. “Tonight, Sothe. Wait until tonight. We’ll have more time, and I know that by now Micaiah is probably going to be looking for you.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Sothe sighed. “But that doesn’t mean I like it.”

“Well, I didn’t say you had to like it.”

Sothe rolled his eyes. “I don’t like that I’m not still kissing you, either.” 

Tormod chuckled. “ _That_ problem I can fix.”

())CRAYOLA))>

“So—so I think I might like you back.” 

Edward cocked an eyebrow. Goddessdammit, he  _knew_ that he was bright red and grinning like an idiot, lips tingling. “Might? You don’t kiss someone if it’s just ‘maybe’, Leonardo.”

“W-well, why not?” Now Leonardo was blushing too, avoiding his gaze. “I’m not sure about it either. But I’ve been thinking about what you said, and I’ve got no reason not to try. It makes sense, doesn’t it?”

“ _No_ , Leo, it doesn’t.” His hopes crashed as quickly as they’d been lifted, and internally he began cursing himself. Wasn’t this what he wanted? “You kiss someone if you like them. Not if you can’t think of a reason _not_ to kiss them.”

“You said you like me, didn’t you?” The blonde finally looked at him again, eyes as sharp as they were when they were in battle. “What’s the problem?”

“I want you to like me back! Not just a maybe, but for sure!” 

“Well, how exactly am I supposed to know? Does some sort of letter arrive for me and confirm the way I feel?” Leonardo groaned and scrubbed a hand through his hair. “I thought you’d be _happy_ , Edward.” 

“I am!” he retorted. “But—”

“So then _why_ are you making this so _difficult_?” Leonardo hissed. “What possible issue arises from me _trying_ to see if we can make this work out between the two of us?”

“I just don’t—”

Leonardo didn’t let him finish, storming out of their shared tent and muttering under his breath. 

He didn’t come back at all that night.

())CRAYOLA))>

“You’ve been fretting lately.”

Micaiah jumped, shoving her glove back on. Goddess, she hoped she wasn’t blushing. “I have not.”

Rafiel smiled and sat next to her on the ground. “You have been. You try so hard to conceal it, but you cannot hide from me any more than the others can hide from you.”

Micaiah snorted. “Of course. Just look straight into my heart, why don’t you?”

Apparently sarcasm was _not_ Rafiel’s forte. Wordlessly he caught her right hand and pulled her glove off. His expression didn’t so much as flinch when he saw the mark, and he examined it carefully, fingers tightening around her wrist when she tried to pull away.

“It’s lovely,” he finally said.

She had nearly snorted again. “It’s disgusting,” she muttered. She made no move to cover the mark. “There is nothing to like about the Brand.”

“I don’t see why not.” Rafiel was still smiling, warm fingers tracing the lines that marked her as cursed. “So you carry the blood of the laguz. It doesn’t matter. I’m sure there are some who would call you unnatural, but I certainly won’t. You are a strong woman and capable of leading us in battle. You care for your family and friends and don’t hesitate to right wrongs. There is nothing wrong with you.”

Goddessdammit, she was tearing up. “Nothing wrong with me? I work beside you. I eat beside you. I have fought with you. You sleep in the tent next to mine, you take orders from me! I’m _nothing_! I don’t _belong_ anywhere!”

“Don’t cry,” he murmured. “Goddess, I did not mean to make you cry.”

“I—y-you—”

Wordlessly he pulled her into his arms. It took a conscious effort not to squeeze the life out of him. Rafiel kissed her hair and wrapped his wings around them.

“You know that Sothe loves you,” he finally murmured. “I have not felt such strong devotion between beorc in a very long time.”

“He’s my b-brother,” Micaiah managed to say. “He’s my only f-family.”

He kissed her forehead. “And that man would do anything for you _because_ you are his sister. You are the only family he has ever known. He loves you regardless of what you are, and you _know_ that.”

“He loves Tormod.”

“You are the only family he has,” Rafiel repeated. “He loves Tormod. I cannot disagree with you in regards to that. But he also loves you very much. Regardless of the mark that is on your skin.” The heron squeezed her tightly. “And regardless of the mark on your skin, I care for you as well. I pray that if I ever have children, they are as strong as you are.”

“You’ve only known me for a month.”

He pulled away just enough to look her in the eye. “I know what it is I’m feeling. I care for you as a close friend, not as I care for—”

“Nailah,” Micaiah murmured. “Not the way that you love Nailah.”

He blinked. “No,” he finally said. “I do not love you the same way I love Nailah. But I do care about you, Micaiah. Regardless of who your parents were.”

For a long time they were silent. Rafiel finally broke the silence by asking how she’d known about Nailah. She hadn’t been able to help smiling.

“I just did,” she replied. “Sometimes I see people and I just know things about them, or I’ll be walking somewhere and see something that’s about to happen. When we were in Nevassa, running from the soldiers, one of them nearly killed a boy. I felt it not even a minute beforehand. I don’t know how. I knew that something terrible was going to happen, and that it would be prevented if I managed to get there in time.”

“So you can hear the spirits, then.”

She shrugged. “I’m not sure I’d call it that. But I know things, impossible things. I can tell Sothe how he’s feeling before he even realises it himself, and I do not have a particularly difficult time learning new magics. I suppose it could be the spirits, but I think that if it were them it would be more commonly heard of amongst mages.”

Rafiel raised an eyebrow, considering. “You might be a descendent of the heron clan, then.”

())CRAYOLA))>

Inevitably, Edward came to the conclusion that he not even remotely in the wrong. It wasn’t that he didn’t  _want_ to pursue Leonardo, or be pursued back, but that fact of the matter was that Leonardo wasn’t taking this seriously  _at all_ . What kind of person just kissed someone else out of sheer impulse? You had to be crazy to do something like that, even if the other party had already established where they stood. It wasn’t as though this were something casual, either—Leonardo had very carefully gotten his attention, leaned in without hesitation, and made it quite clear what he was doing.  _On the lips_ . 

And Edward had  _yelled_ at him afterward. But it wasn’t as though he were the one in the wrong—it  _had_ been  _his_ mouth. And for Leonardo to shrug it off as though it were nothing, as though it hadn’t meant the world to Edward…that had particularly hurt. Because why would you  _do_ something like that to someone and then tell them—

“Because it’s better to be _honest_.” 

Edward nearly jumped out of his skin. Then he realized he’d said the last bit out loud. Leonardo sat next to him and clapped a hand onto his shoulder. 

“Look, I don’t want—”

“Shut up, Edward.” Leonardo gave him a long, hard look before continuing. “I think you got the wrong idea. I meant what I said when I told you that I’m not sure about all of my feelings just yet. But that was _not_ meant to imply that I would kiss anyone who expressed any sort of interest in me. I think that might have been the impression that you got.” 

“What other impression would I get?!” Goddessdammit, this was just _frustrating_. If it was supposed to be some kind of apology, Leonardo wasn’t doing a very good job of it.

“I didn’t kiss you because of any sort of… _lack_ of qualm with doing so,” Leonardo murmured, leaning in. “I did it _because_ it was you, and not somebody else. I guess I want to be the one that you’re thinking about kissing, instead of someone else being the centre of attention. But I wasn’t quite sure what that meant.”

His lips were nearly touching Edward’s, and the myrmidon swallowed hard. “S-so does that—”

“So I guess that answers the question for us, doesn’t it?”

Dammit, that  _still_ wasn’t quite the answer that Edward had been looking for, but it was close enough. Leo’s lips were on his for the second time in two days, the archer’s fingers caressing his face. Edward knew he had to be bright red and when Leo pulled away he couldn’t look the blond in the eye. 

“I-I want you to be s-sure—” he began, but Leo kissed him again, more forcefully. This time Edward felt himself being pushed backward onto his bedroll, the archer leaning over him and grinning. 

“Have you never kissed someone before?” Leo asked. “Is that why your feathers are so ruffled?” He must have taken Edward’s silence to be agreement, and he chuckled softly. “Ashera, Edward, is that what this is about?”

“D-don’t—”

Another kiss, and now Leo’s  _tongue_ was involved. Edward pushed him away. 

“ _No_ , I’ve never kissed someone before,” he gasped. “A-and I don’t know what I’m doing, and I don’t w-want you to think I’m bad at it, or something.” Then he remembered. “And I want to know for sure that you’re doing it because—”

“Because I have feelings for you, stupid.” Leo had a positively feral grin on his face. “I told you, I wouldn’t be doing this with anyone else. I don’t know if I _love_ you, exactly, but I can at least say that I like being around you and I like that I’m making you all flustered from a kiss.” His eyes were glittering as he leaned down, and Edward gasped as the blond licked a long, slow line up his neck. “Don’t worry about doing it right.” Teeth on his earlobe, a hand trailing across his chest. “I’ll teach you.”

It turned out that Leonardo was a terrific teacher.

 


	4. Endgame: Arise

Perhaps they should have anticipated that someone would catch them _eventually_ , but Sothe blamed their lack of foresight on hormones, the fact that they’d stuck a dagger in the ground in front of their tent (a system that had worked wonders three years ago), and the fact that they hadn’t even _done_ anything yet. They weren’t even completely _naked_ (yet). Dimly he tried explaining this to a flushed Micaiah, who _insisted_ that a dagger in the ground in front of a tent was _not_ some sort of universal signal for ‘do not disturb’. When he mentioned that it was the system they’d used during the war, she groaned.

“For Goddess’ sake, Sothe, we’re fighting day in and day out and you—you’re— _this_ was the _important_ thing you had to slip away from the banquet for?!”

He didn’t look at her. “It’s not like my presence is necessary.”

“ _Necessary_?! I—you—” It took her a moment to form a proper sentence. “Why would you _do_ this to me? I need you in there with me! _Me_ , Sothe. He’s been here a _fortnight_ —” a spark flew from her finger as she pointed at Tormod, who by this point was bright red and trying his best to disappear into their bedroll “—and you’ve dropped _everything_ for him, _every_ time he’s asked!”

“Now hold on—” Sothe began, but Micaiah was having none of it.

“Hold _nothing_! I’m your _sister_ and you’ve been ignoring me so you can sneak off to—to _fuck_ someone you haven’t so much as spoken to in years!”

“I thought you were _happy_ for me,” he growled.

“Don’t you _even_ , Sothe. I needed you out there with me and you were nowhere to be found. I can’t get a minute to myself because I’m constantly being swarmed, but it’s usually fine because you’re with me to scare everyone off if I need you to. But you’re—”

“You’re the commander of this goddessdamned army, Micaiah!” Sothe snapped. “You can _order_ them to leave you alone! You can’t rely on me for everything! I need time to myself now and again but you’re constantly following me. What does it say to you if I have to sneak away from my own damn sister for some time to myself?”

“Sothe—”

He knew that he’d hit a nerve, but at this point he didn’t care. “You need to start taking care of your own problems. I am _not_ your bodyguard and you are _not_ in charge of what I do on my own time. Get out.”

“Don’t you talk to me—”

“Get _out_.”

“Sothe—”

“Out!” he shouted, halfway to his feet. She glared at him and stormed out. A moment later he heard her let out a frustrated scream from some distance away and he sighed, lowering himself back down. Tormod’s heart was pounding and he nuzzled against the sage’s neck, pulling him close.

“I should go,” Tormod muttered, attempting to pull away.

“You haven’t done anything wrong,” Sothe replied. “It’s alright. She’s being completely unreasonable.”

“I guess.” The redhead still seemed uncomfortable, and Sothe sighed.

“We can go back to the banquet, if you like.” He chuckled softly. “I doubt you’re still in the mood.”

There was a long silence, and when Tormod spoke Sothe could tell he was grinning.

“It would probably make her _really_ mad if I was, wouldn’t it?”

“Oh, I completely agree.” Sothe propped himself up on his elbows to look the sage in the eye. Tormod had a decidedly mischievous look on his face, and the rogue leaned down to kiss him. “She’d be furious.”

“I think someone once told me that siblings are supposed to hate each other now and again,” Tormod continued, still grinning impishly. Sothe chuckled and licked a slow, deliberate line up the redhead’s neck.

“Well, then, let’s see if they were right.”

())CRAYOLA))>

After she’d shouted every curse she knew and combined them in as many creative ways as she could, Micaiah realised that she’d wandered a bit far. This in itself brought on a whole new stream of curses as she attempted to reorient herself, and finally she gave up and flopped onto the ground. A familiar weight settled on one of her outstretched hands, and she glanced over. Yune chirped once in greeting.

“You needed to get away too, did you?” She sighed, closing her eyes. “I’m so…I’ve been so tired lately, Yune. But I’ll be back in Nevassa again, and we’ll save Daein. We’ll be home.”

The sudden crunch of a twig beneath a boot caught her attention, and she bolted upright, sending Yune flying somewhere into the woods. The trees were aglow with torchlight. Behind her, someone spat.

“I’m doomed, thanks to you.”

“General Jarod!” She scrambled to her feet, inwardly cursing. How had an entire group of soldiers snuck up on her? “Why are you here?!”

“If I have to go down, I’m taking someone with me.” The halberdier grinned. “And who better than the vice-general of the Daein Liberation Army? Your people’s revered ‘Priestess of Dawn’?”

Ah. This was how it was to end, then. Still, she could try fighting back. “Even if you kill me, the kingdom of Daein will be reborn. As long as the prince survives, the people will fight.” Laughter erupted around her, and she coolly raised an eyebrow. “Did you really bring so many men for one girl?”

He ignored her comment. “The _prince_?” Jarod laughed. “He’s a sham, a travesty. No amount of polishing could shine _that_ clod of mud. No, my dear, the real jewel is you, Priestess.” He hefted his lance and stepped toward her. “Once you are gone, Daein’s light of hope will be extinguished. Know despair, girl.”

What should have been a clean blow through her throat was deflected, and Jarod was sent stumbling backward. Micaiah pinched herself to make sure that she was awake and seeing the right person; dead people didn't just _materialise_ out of thin air.

“Y-you—you're the—“

“I was once one of the Four Riders, serving the old army of Daein.” The knight straightened and turned toward Jarod. “If you recall the name of the Black Knight, you will withdraw from this place at once.”

Laughter again. Jarod spat. “Right. That’s _precious_. You’re the legendary Black Knight? Maybe you hadn’t heard, but he died in the war.” He was standing tall again, sneering at them both from behind his lance. “But let’s put your claim to the test, if only to indulge my own amusement.”

“Then have at me and learn your folly.”

The torches were extinguished. The knight shifted his weight ever so slightly. “Maiden. I shall be your shield. Remain by my side.”

Micaiah swallowed. “I-I will.”

())CRAYOLA))>

So maybe he was getting a _bit_ worried. It had been at least a mark and no matter who he asked, Sothe had yet to find someone who remembered seeing Micaiah since she’d stepped out. He told himself that he was worrying about nothing and had gone back to bed with Tormod, but something still felt off. She’d been angry with him, certainly, but she wasn’t stupid enough to get lost in the woods or attacked by a bear.

Was she?

Carefully he disentangled himself from Tormod. The redhead cracked an eye open sleepily. “You’re gonna look for her, then?” he asked.

Sothe nodded. “It’s been too long, even for her. Something doesn’t seem right.” He smiled and tossed his scarf down to the sage.

“You know she can take care of herself,” Tormod yawned, burying his nose in the fabric.

“Still. I want to be sure.” Sothe leaned down to rumple the sage’s hair. “I won’t be long.”

“You better not be. I’ll get cold.”

Mere moments after he left their tent he caught sight of her on the edge of their camp, striding with a purpose, as usual. Relief flooded through him and he briefly chastised himself for fretting as much as he had. Tormod was right, she _wasn’t_ stupid; she couldn’t get into trouble this close to their encampment, not with an entire army here.

But his relief was short-lived as he realised who was with her, and he couldn’t get to her fast enough. As he neared he saw that her arms were streaked with blood, gore splattered along one side of her face. Dimly he cursed himself for leaving his scarf with Tormod. Her eyes lit up when she saw him and she dove into his arms. He glared up at the knight, carefully running his hands over her, checking for injury.

“You! What have you done to my sister?!”

“Sothe, it’s okay!” she pulled away just enough to throw her arms around his neck, squeezing him tightly. “This knight just saved my life.”

“What? Micaiah, do you know who this _is_?”

“Everybody knows who he is, Sothe!” Micaiah seemed to notice the gore on her face and she wiped it away with the back of one hand. “He’s the Black Knight. One of the Four Riders under King Ashnard, and the strongest—”

“ _Exactly_! General Ike defeated him in Castle Nados in Crimea during the war! So how can he be here now, alive!?”

“Don’t _fight_ with me, Sothe, I nearly—”

“Enough.” The knight hadn’t even raised his voice, but his tone commanded absolute silence. “You are correct, Sothe. Ike did defeat me in that battle, in a fashion. But as you can see, I managed to escape.”

“What do you want?” Sothe asked after a moment’s silence.

“For Daein to raise its banner as a kingdom once again. I came here to protect those who are necessary for that dream.”

“Sothe.” Micaiah’s voice was smaller than usual, and she gripped his forearms tightly. “General Jarod was here a moment ago. If the Black Knight hadn’t stepped in, Jarod would have killed me.”

He growled in frustration. “I don’t want his help, and neither should you. Even if he did save you.”

“ _Stop_ it!” she shouted. “In Ashnard’s war you served below Ike, and that made you our enemy. But now you serve _me_ and I am _ordering_ you to work with him toward the same goal.”

“You can’t just—”

“‘You’re the commander of this goddessdamned _army_ , Micaiah, you can just _order_ us to do things!” she mocked. “I _am_ ordering you, Sothe. I don’t care if you like it or not, but he _will_ fight with us. Do you understand me?”

He gritted his teeth. “Ma’am.”

())CRAYOLA))>

It was the next evening that Tormod snuck up on her. “I’m sorry about Nevassa.”

Micaiah stiffened as the sage’s arms fell around her from behind. “Why?”

“I should have done something. I could have done something, but instead I kept Sothe away from you and nearly got you killed, and now your city is...I’m sorry.” His grip tightened. “Ashera, I’m so, so sorry.”

Carefully she placed her hands over his. “I...I wasn’t thinking clearly last night. I shouldn’t have run off on my own, and I shouldn’t have gotten angry in the first place. I...” she took in a deep breath. “I was scared, Tormod. I’ve never lost my farsight before. I didn’t know what to make of it and I panicked.” Then she turned to face him. “You both deserve happiness, and I absolutely should not have barged in and started yelling the way I did, and I shouldn’t have wandered into the woods in the middle of the night. It was...immature.”

His mouth twisted into a lopsided grin. “Well...a bit.”

Goddess, the honesty with which he spoke was unbelievable. But then, that was why Sothe loved him, and she smiled. “Yes. Now come in and eat something! You’re the one who made all of this possible.”

He shook his head and took a step back. “I’m afraid not. I...we’ve got to get going, y’know?”

And then she saw Muarim and Vika standing not far off, chatting with Sothe. Realisation struck her.

“Are you really leaving already?” Micaiah’s brow furrowed. “Stay. At least for the feast tonight.” She smiled. “You’ve done so much to help us. You deserve some celebration! Nothing I can say will convince you to break bread with Lord Izuka?”

Tormod shook his head. He caught her hands and smiled. “It’s not just that. If we stick around too long, the soldiers are gonna start giving us dirty looks. It’s…it’s awkward.”

“What do you mean?”

“Most Daeins still loathe laguz. Getting rid of that hatred…well, you’ve got your work cut out for you.” He sighed and let her go. “Look, we don’t want to ruin everyone’s party. It’s been really great, meeting my best friend’s big sister and all that, and helping you with everything, but we’ll just quietly slip away.”

Micaiah sniffed—curse it all, she’d promised herself she wouldn’t cry when everyone left. “I can’t believe I’d never noticed. Tormod, I’m so sorry.”

The sage’s eyes widened. “Ah! Don’t cry! I hate it when girls cry!” He grinned and squeezed her shoulders. “And it’s not like you’ll never see us again; we’ll come back and visit you.”

“I suppose.” Micaiah smiled. The laguz had joined them by this point, and she turned to Muarim. “May…may I speak with you?”

“Of course.” The tiger smiled and they turned away from the others.

“Muarim, before you go…I want to thank you. Thank you for not telling anyone about my Brand.”

One of his hands fell to the back of her neck. A fatherly gesture. “No thanks are needed. I would never force that situation on anyone. It…it’s rude of me to ask, but do you know anything about the circumstances of your birth?”

She shook her head. “No. I know nothing of my parents; only that they abandoned me on the border, near Begnion. But the old woman who raised me told me what the mark was and what it meant. That I’m both. That nobody should ever see it, and to always be on my guard.”

“Wise advice.”

Micaiah sighed heavily. “I’ve avoided people most of my life to conceal my brand, and my powers. But there is no way to hide how very slowly I age. I…I’m turning twenty-five this year, Muarim. But if you asked anyone, they would say that Sothe is _my_ older brother, not the other way around. So I just keep moving through Daein. And the same holds true now. I won’t be able to stay in this army long.”

“Even so…as long as little Sothe is by your side, I think that you can overcome any difficulty.”

She smiled. “Yes. Just as you have Tormod.”

The tiger rumpled her hair. “Yes.”

They moved back toward the others and Micaiah collapsed into giggles. Muarim let out a strangled sound and then sighed.

“Little one. I realize you’ve missed him, but…but _really_.”

Tormod casually detached himself from the rogue. “I—and—yes, I know.” He sighed. “I guess we better get a move on?”

Vika clucked her tongue. “At this rate we’ll be standing here all night and well into tomorrow.”

Micaiah giggled. “Vika, my thanks go to you as well. Sothe and I will visit you in the desert.”

The crow looked away. “I’ll be there. But I won’t be waiting. Waiting for people who never come is…hard.”

Micaiah moved into Vika’s line of sight. “Vika. I said I’ll come, and I will. Alright?”

“I…okay, then.”

And then came Nailah and Rafiel. The queen gave them a grin. “Micaiah. Sothe. We’re going with them.”

Sothe frowned. “What? Aren’t you going to Gallia?”

Tormod leaned up and kissed his temple. “Yeah. We’re taking them.” At the look he was given he simply smiled. “Look, neither of you can leave Daein for a little while, right? Don’t worry. We can handle it.”

Nailah knelt next to Micaiah to look her in the eye. “Once the battle ended, it seemed time to move on. I’m sorry to change our plans, but this is better for all of us.”

“I can’t believe you’re all leaving us at once.” Micaiah held back tears.

Rafiel took Nailah’s place as the wolf queen stood. “Micaiah. Fate brought us together, you and I, guided by the same voice.” He held his arms open. “Our paths are fated to cross again. I am sure of it.”

Micaiah leaned into him and he squeezed her tightly. “I…”

“It’s alright.”

She broke down then. Rafiel kissed her hair and hummed softly.

“I’m embarrassed,” she hiccupped. “I didn’t mean to cry. It’s…been so nice meeting you all.”

Nailah murmured something under her breath and Tormod kicked her. Rafiel chuckled and stood, wiping the tears from Micaiah’s cheeks.

“Come on, then. You’ve got a celebration to get back to and we’ve a long way to go. We will see you again.”

She nodded and when Sothe offered his arms she fell into them. They were silent as they watched the others depart. Then she sighed.

“Come on. I suppose we should get back inside.”

The crunch of twigs caught her attention, and when she squinted she could make out the shape of a wolf in the moonlight. Had Nailah forgotten something? 

Then Micaiah realized, and she stepped forward to greet him. “Volug! Did Lady Nailah send you back to guard us?”

The wolf nuzzled his head into her palm and she giggled. From behind her, Sothe groaned. “Ridiculous. As if you didn’t already have that annoying bird.” Moments later he was howling in pain from what she knew was a sharp beak and small talons. Grinning, she dove into his arms. 

“We did it, you know,” she laughed. Goddess, she had almost forgotten what it was like to be this _giddy_. “We’ll have to work for a long time to return Daein to its former grandeur, but if I have you two with me, I know it can be done.” 

Sothe chuckled and kissed the top of her head. “Well, obviously. You’re a hell of a leader, Micaiah.” 

Micaiah swatted him. “Language.”

“I’m proud of you,” he murmured against her hair. “You’ve done so much good for so many people.”

“Hey, no. Stop.” She grinned up at him. “I’m the eldest; _I’m_ supposed to be proud of _you_.” 

“As if you’d ever admit it.” He was grinning too, though, and happiness radiated from him. “Come on, for real now. Pelleas has some of that wine we like.” Micaiah wrinkled her nose at him, and he laughed. “Alright, that wine _I_ like. We’ll find some brandy for you, I’m sure.” 

“Good,” she laughed, and as Sothe led her back inside, for once she honestly believed that things would finally, _finally_ turn around for her people.

 


	5. In which Elincia earns a victory

 

"Elincia!"

The queen jumped when she felt hands over her eyes. Only one person other than Lucia did that.

“Marcia!” She spun and caught the pegasus knight in a hug. “How are you? And what are you doing here?”

Marcia grinned. “Lucia told me about those no-goodnik nobles and their chest-beating contest, so I thought you could use some cheering up. And you weren’t in your chambers or the garden, so I guessed that you would be up here.”

Elincia’s expression fell. “Forgive me. I needed…some time to think. I’m sorry to trouble you.”

Marcia waved a hand. “Not at all! After hiring me as a Royal Knight, it’s least I could do.”

A smile threatened Elincia’s face. “Even so, I’m afraid I may have also caused you a great number of hardships.”

“Pff. The grief I’m getting from the nobles? It’s nothing. If you think _your_ country has stuffed-shirt windbags for aristocracy, you should see Begnion’s. They’ve got a new shenanigan every week.” Her eyes narrowed. “I remember once, someone had the _nerve_ to sneeze in the presence of the Apostle. The nerve! They were saying that they should hang him, that they should not hang him, they should string him up by his thumbs or throw him out of the court or maybe leave him in the desert, or drop him from one of the awnings.”

The queen looked amused. “And what happened?”

“Sanaki told someone to just give the man a handkerchief and that was the end of it.”

They laughed. Marcia patted Elincia’s shoulder. “Look, anyone can strut around in a crown and say she’s a ruler, but you always put your people first. It’s not that you’re doing a bad job. Everyone’s on edge, that’s all, with Daein getting a new king. People are worried that he’ll start another war like his father did, and they’re taking it out on you. Just don’t let those peacock-wearing nobles bother you, and remember that you don’t have to go it alone. You’ve got friends everywhere.” The knight stood and dragged Elincia to her feet. “C’mon. Let’s go for a ride.”

())CRAYOLA))>

It had pulled down her defences immediately. The façade she put up to try and convince everyone, convince _Geoffrey_ , that she was alright, that the revolutions weren’t getting the better of her. When the news came that Ike was nowhere to be found, something in her had broken. The only thing that had lifted her in the slightest was hearing Leanne speak, but that too had been lost in seconds when she realized that Leanne could read her heart.

Marcia had shooed Nealuchi out of the room at that point, and for that, Elincia was thankful.

Leanne touched her shoulder gently. “Queen Elincia…”

“Why does this happen!?” She hadn’t meant to burst out, but at the moment she didn’t care, either. “My people fight, brother against brother. And no matter what I do, I can’t stop it! I’m a miserable failure. I just want to—to crawl into a cave somewhere! How can anyone believe in me now!?”

Leanne’s arms fell around her and the blonde squeezed tightly. Elincia broke down crying.

“I never asked for any of this. I never wanted to be queen.”

It was comforting. Leanne hummed softly and she felt her eyelids grow heavy.

“I can’t…I can’t _do_ this anymore.”

())CRAYOLA))>

His voice made her jump, and admittedly she hadn't been expecting him. Shouldn't he have been out making preparations? Still, she turned. Geoffrey gazed down at her, uncertain.

“Your Majesty?” (stopitstopit _stopitIshouldnotbeyourqueen_ ) “What are you doing with that lance?”

She huffed softly to keep from tearing up. “I asked your servant for it, and he gave it to me.”

His brow furrowed further, and she took the opportunity to step back into his quarters, waving his servant away. The look on his face revealed his reluctance to follow, but he did, shutting and locking the doors behind them when she indicated for him to do so. Then he sighed, letting himself relax slightly, the way he never did when people might be watching. “Elincia, why? Who knows what people will say if they catch you with one of my weapons, and the one I carried during the war, no less.”

He was _infuriating_ sometimes. “Let the court say what it wishes.” She couldn't quite meet his eyes. “You are far more important to me than the whispers of nobles.”

And then his hand was on hers, gently pulling the lance from her and learning it against the wall. “You don't need to say that.”

“Back then, you used this lance to free our people from Daein's clutches. Your courage was dauntless and your prowess legendary.” She sighed and turned away from him, eyed the open curtains, and strode over to close them. “I could not bear to have you raise that same lance against your fellow people of Crimea.”

Something seemed to click in his head, and he took a tentative step toward her. The room was dark now, and his voice was low. Very little risk of being overheard or spotted, and she could barely make out his expression as he spoke. “Are you worried about my reputation?”

Goddess bless him for finally lowering his guard and speaking to her as a friend, and curse him for bringing her this close to tears. “ _Yes_ , Geoffrey, I'm worried. I couldn't bear to cast a shadow over your name, or your pride, or—”

And suddenly his arms were around her, sending a shiver coursing up her spine. His grip was strong and warm and she couldn't quite help the choked sob that escaped, or the way she leaned into him. Carefully, he guided her to the edge of his bed and sat down, drawing her close.

“Elincia, my pride as a knight is rooted in my service to you, not in a country or my reputation. I am proud to be Crimean, and I am proud to be part of the knighthood, but I am proud to call myself a Crimean Knight because you are the one I am serving.” He paused briefly. “I am here because I love my queen, not because I love my country. I would drop everything in an instance if it meant you wanted me to. I live for my queen. I am here for _you_.”

“Don't say that, you're—”

“Elincia.” One of his hands caught hers and she was suddenly acutely aware of what he had said. How he had said it. The implication, which couldn't have been intentional. She glanced up at him, but he was staring at the curtains as if to make sure nobody could see through them. After a moment he looked back at her and repeated himself. “I am here because I love my queen.”

“You can't possibly mean what I think you mean.”

“And what do you think I mean?”

His voice had dropped, and Elincia stared at him. Was he...grinning? _Geoffrey_? Geoffrey didn't _grin_. But he was, and suddenly his hands were on her waist and he was lifting her almost effortlessly, turning her to face him and gently depositing her into his lap. She felt herself turning red and was briefly thankful that it was too dark for him to properly make out her expression. One arm stayed at her waist, the other carefully threading through her hair.

“Lin, you know what I mean.” His voice was still low, and she carefully placed her hands on his shoulders. He was still grinning and for a brief moment she was somehow reminded of Kieran's grin whenever he saw his lover. Geoffrey chuckled softly. “I know you know.”

And suddenly all the concern in the world left her, and she laughed softly too. “I thought we were worried about what people will say,” she murmured.

Geoffrey pulled her closer, and she flushed deeply when she realised that she was straddling his hips, pressed into him tightly enough that she could feel the chain mail beneath his silk shirt. Gently, so gently, he gripped her hair and pulled her in.

“We are,” he whispered, and kissed her.

())CRAYOLA))>

Haar's hand on her arm was likely meant to calm her nerves somewhat, but she barely felt it. White-hot rage filled her, and she clenched her fist around the clump of Lucia's hair, shaking. Screaming for the guards, commanding them to make ready for battle. Concerns about her leading the army personally were voiced; a withering glare silenced them.

She would not run.

And thank Ashera that Geoffrey understood when he and the others finally arrived, countering Ludveck's flank and finally pushing the turn of battle in their favour. He hardly seemed surprised that she refused to take refuge, instead letting the smallest hint of a smile show even as he began barking orders to his men.

She would not run.

Their victory was short-lived. Ludveck was taken to the dungeons, and she barely maintained her composure as she told Geoffrey that his sister had been captured. He stiffened, but his expression didn't change.

She would not run.

The rebellion presented them with a compromise: Ludveck for Lucia. The thought of losing her closest friend tore her to pieces, but she stood tall.

She would not run.

Lucia fell, and chaos erupted beneath them as the mercenaries materialized from the shadows. Geoffrey caught her as her knees buckled.

She would not run.

())CRAYOLA))>

And as soon as they had a moment alone that evening she pushed him against the wall of his quarters and kissed him fiercely. Geoffrey let out the softest groan and pulled her close, arms loosely draped over her shoulders. Goddess, he was so soft, despite the scars and callouses and heavy mesh of steel he never took off. Experimentally she slipped a hand beneath it and he gasped before kissing her more intensely, fingers finding their way to her hair and tugging gently. His mouth was fire and when she found her tongue meeting his she felt sudden pressure below her stomach, though she wasn't entirely sure of the cause nor the solution.

“I'm proud of you,” he murmured against her lips. Elincia pulled away and didn't meet his gaze.

“I was prepared to let Lucia die.”

“She knew the risk she was taking.” His hands fell to her shoulders but he didn't force her to look at him. “I will not lie to you and say that everything is alright. Lucia is my only sister, and her death would have brought me deep sorrow. But you did what you knew was right, deep down. You did not put your personal feelings ahead of the needs of your country, and that is commendable.” He took a deep breath. “And I should not have tried to guilt you into saving her. For that, I apologize.”

Elincia blinked and turned. “Guilt? What—”

He shook his head and shrugged slightly. “I told you to help her, because she would have done the same in your position.”

“Geoffrey, that's hardly—”

His arms were around her again, and he pressed his lips to her forehead. “I have a duty as your general to take orders, not question them or try to coerce you, no matter what my personal feelings might be.” Her face flushed and he smiled, leaning in again to kiss her.

And then he was taking her breath away again, groaning softly as she sunk into his embrace. After several moments she pulled away and drew breath to tell him it was alright, but the words were lost when his mouth met her neck, hot and wet. Her knees nearly gave out again and he guided them to the floor, pulling her atop him. She gasped when he eased his thigh between hers, alleviating the pressure that had been building there, and she sank down willingly, taking a mental note to wear pants more often. Geoffrey's lips were on her neck once more and she groaned, fisting a hand in his hair. One of his hands caressed her side gently, the other resting on her hip. Through a haze of pleasure she was able to draw breath

“Lucia told me once that you fancied me but I never imagined— _Geoffrey—_ that it was this much, especially not after Haar,” she managed to gasp. His teeth scraped up the side of her neck and he chuckled.

“I might have wavered once in the face of despair, but I will not deny how strongly I feel for you.” He pressed a soft, sucking kiss below her ear. “I never imagined this to be possible, Lin.”

His childhood nickname for her made her beam. “Please keep calling me that,” she whispered. “I hate when you call me 'Your Majesty'.”

“Yes, Lin.”

She bit her lip, unsure how to voice what she needed next. The knight pulled away, concerned, and she felt her face grow hot. “I-I...I need...”

His brow furrowed for a moment, and then Geoffrey grinned wickedly. In a swift motion he had them both on their feet and in another he was depositing her on his bed. Her heart was racing and she felt his hand on her thigh, but he broke away long enough to lock the door, draw the curtains closed, and pull his chain mail over his head, dropping it unceremoniously on the floor. Then he was pulling her back on top of him, settling back into his pillows and guiding her legs around one of his. The friction made her quiver and his hands fell to her waist, gently encouraging her to move. His eyes were lidded as he gazed up at her. “Is this what you need, Lin?”

Elincia knew that he knew the answer, but she couldn't help looking away, ashamed. “I...I feel like a wh—”

“You're not.” The knight's response was quick and he squeezed her hips. “Lin, it's just me. And if this is what you need, and what you want, I am happy to give it to you. I adore you, Lin, and I'm here to help for however long you want me to.” He paused, chewing his lip for a moment. “I am yours.”

She swallowed hard, leaning down to rest her forehead against his. As she did, his hands slid to her backside, pulling her across his thigh again and drawing a gasp. His voice was soft. “It's just me, Lin. I love you. Please, tell me what you want.”

The queen nodded, experimentally grinding against him on her own, and he let her name out in a soft hiss, begging her to keep telling him what she needed.

“K-kiss me,” she murmured. He tilted his head to meet her lips, but she pulled away slightly, the anxiety that had been growing in her chest dissipating. “Not there.”

He chuckled and licked a long, deliberate line up her neck.

“I live to serve my queen.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanna say that this chapter is the first piece of non-homework writing I've done in nearly two years, so please be patient if my writing somehow looks different from the last few chapters. I'm still working on getting back into the groove. Thank you, as always, for reading.


	6. In which mercenaries are hired

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should be writing a unit plan but instead I wrote this. It's not sexy, it's plot and character development.

“Ike, a visitor to see you.”

There was no mistaking Soren’s tone. The sage was hiding a grin. Ike started to turn—

“A visit—”

—and was promptly tackled. He landed hard and whoever was on top of him started laughing.

“Long time no see, Ike. You know, I’ve been looking all over Crimea for you. You’re never home!”

Ike struggled. “Ranulf!” He accepted the cat’s hand and let the other man pull him to his feet. “How are you? How’s everyone in Gallia? Is Caineghis well?”

The cat’s grin was wide as they headed inside. “Everyone’s doing great. Laguz don’t take ill too easily, so it’s hard not to be ‘well’.”

“You look exhausted.” That was Soren, falling into place beside Ike. Ranulf groaned.

“It’s—I don’t want to talk about it right now. I don’t want to _think_ about it right now. I want a cup of tea and to catch up with you both before we get down to business.”

“Business?” Soren raised an eyebrow. Ranulf made a face.

“Not now. Give me a moment. I need to sit with people who know how to do something other than shout. _Please_ , Soren.”

The sage’s expression softened. “Very well.”

())CRAYOLA))>

“War?” Ike frowned and fiddled with this wedding ring. “I feel like I should be surprised, but I'm not.”

Ranulf chuckled at that and Soren sighed, idly sipping his tea and kicking Ike under the table. The swordsman shrugged, and there was a brief silence. Ranulf broke it.

“Gallia, Phoenicis, and Kilvas have allied and are setting out against Begnion. There was...news, from Reyson and Leanne's elder brother. Disturbing news.”

“Oh?” That was Soren, eyebrows raised ever so slightly; Ike knew Ranulf had piqued his interest.

“Rafiel returned to Daein, accompanied by several members of the Laguz Emancipation Army and the queen of a laguz tribe we thought had died out,” Ranulf continued. “He had been captured by slave traders and auctioned off to a Begnion senator before the massacre, but lost his way when he tried to escape from them and ended up veering off into the desert of death. It's a miracle that he was found, and an even greater one that he has returned.”

“Get to the point,” Soren muttered. It was Ike's turn to kick him.

“Right, right.” Ranulf looked at the ceiling briefly, then returned to his story. “It's unclear where he learned it, but I guess that it doesn't matter anyway. Rafiel knows details of the Serenes Massacre that he shouldn't, the most alarming of which being that it was fully orchestrated by Begnion's senate.”

“The senate?” Ike frowned. “But I thought that Ashnard had had some part to play in the massacre.”

“It was never completely confirmed.” There was Soren again, tea set aside and a quill in his hand. “Despite investigations, shallow as they were, no proof ever arose of Ashnard's involvement. Although at this point it would be ridiculous to try to place blame on someone else, moreso to place it on the senate.” A pause. Soren's eyes met Ranulf's. The sage rolled his eyes and huffed. “Of _course_.”

Ranulf frowned. “Hey, I had no part in this! I'm the military's sub-commander, not an ambassador. And you know how Tibarn is about the herons, he's...” the cat gestured with one hand, words failing him. “...you know.”

“So he flew into a rage and declared war, then.”

“Surprisingly, no.” Ranulf took a sip of his lukewarm tea and made a face; Soren murmured a Fire variant and warmed it. “Thanks. No, Reyson had some say in the matter, and they ended up sending messengers, demanding an explanation from the senators.” His face grew dark. “But they deny any wrongdoing, and refuse to investigate Rafiel's claims, and recently...recently, our messengers have stopped coming back.”

Soren's face softened slightly, and Ike could see the wheels turning in the tactician's head. “So Tibarn and the others are not so foolish as to jump in without attempting diplomacy, then, although they have declared war against the largest military force in Tellius.” He paused. “Am I missing any information?”

“We are not nearly as stupid as Begnion thinks we are.” Ranulf grinned ferally. “They expect us to charge in like the dumb animals they think we are, and that they can quietly clean up the mess as they slaughter us. And yes, Gallia's commanding officer wants to act that way. But pitting brute force against Begnion's magical and tactical prowess will result in massive casualties, and I will not let my countrymen die for no reason.” His eyes met Soren's. “I need you, Soren.”

The sage didn't even blink. “You need Ike, not me.”

“I need a tactician.” The cat's hand fell to Soren's shoulder. “I have a general, I have the troops, I have the resources. But I cannot manage everything on my own and still try to scrape together workable tactics. I need you strategies. You were brilliant during the Mad King's War. I placed my trust in you then and I would place my trust in you now, if you'll let me.”

Soren didn't answer, and Ike took the chance to intervene.

“The Greil Mercenaries are on good terms with Apostle Sanaki at the moment, and I would be reluctant to become involved in this conflict.” He paused. “And furthermore, we have a lot of work now that Crimea has just come out of a civil war.”

“Ike, you can—”

“I'm not done, Ranulf, hold on.” It was a difficult decision, and dammit, he had never been good with vocalising his thoughts about matters like this, that was what Soren did for him. “I don't want to split apart the Greil Mercenaries. We're strongest as a full team; I've seen how we function without Soren and I would prefer not to do so again. Even if that weren't the issue, I don't want to pull apart my family.” Soren's hand fell to his knee, and Ike squeezed it gently. “But I cannot ignore this sort of wrongdoing, either. Begnion cannot be allowed to act as though they are above consequence.”

Ranulf nodded. “Then I'd like to formally hire all of you on a sort of...open-ended contract. Goddess knows how long this might last or what it might entail, so I can't exactly draw up parameters for you at the moment.”

Soren squeezed Ike's leg, nodding his approval and extending his other hand.

“We would be glad to work with you, Ranulf.”

())CRAYOLA))>

“Needed for my tactics, indeed.”

Soren raised an eyebrow at an exasperated Ranulf. The cat met his eyes and groaned, wincing as Skrimir began shouting outside their tent, a bewildered Ike following behind him. “Well, _you_ go stop him, then.”

“I'd sooner walk off a bridge.”

Ranulf scrubbed his fingers through his hair. “He's not a bad person, he's just thickheaded. This is his first major battle.”

“He's going to get his teeth kicked out.”

The cat laughed. “Goddess, I hope not.” He rolled his shoulders and winced as they let out a series of pops. “Skrimir is a good man, and given a few battles he'll begin to settle down and listen. I hope.”

“Undoubtedly.”

Ranulf cocked an eyebrow and grinned, nudging the shorter man. “Is that humour, coming from _you_?”

The sage didn't look at him, but the corners of his lips lifted slightly. “Undoubtedly.”

())CRAYOLA))>

“Are you alright?”

The sage jumped, and Ranulf raised his hands defensively. Soren looked at him distastefully. “I'm fine.”

“Are you sure?” He didn't want to say it outright. “You...you just seem off, is all.”

Crimson eyes met his, but the tactician didn't back away. “Are you suggesting something?”

Ranulf frowned; was Soren inviting him to speak? “It's just...” he struggled for a moment to find the right words, to not scare the beorc off. “I understand if you take issue with poisoning them.”

Soren tensed slightly. “It is the most strategically sound way to sway the battle in our favour, given the general's recent behaviour.”

“I know.” A pause. Ranulf briefly marvelled at the fact that the sage hadn't walked away as he continued. “But I'm saying that...that if you need to talk, or something, that you can. I know you don't trust me, not enough to really _talk_. But I know that this strategy, effective as it is, bothers you.”

There was a long silence. Some ways away, Ranulf could hear Ike lamenting the loss of good meat to the enemy, and Mist laughing at him. Inventory being taken by Titania. Rhys scolding an uncaring Skrimir about the responsible use of lit torches.

Unexpectedly, Soren spoke, though had it been any softer Ranulf might have missed it.

“Poison is cruel,” he murmured. Absently he picked at a rough patch on the table. He pulled in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I didn't appreciate being poisoned during the Mad King's War, and I doubt that these men will appreciate it now. Even if it has no lasting harm. It's...in poor taste.”

Ranulf nodded. “I know.”

The sage's eyes flashed at him. “You know.” The words were bitter, and immediately Ranulf regretted his phrasing.

“No, I don't.” The cat struggled to keep himself calm, he'd been trying _so hard_ to get in Soren's good books and show the sage that he genuinely meant no harm. “You're right, I don't. I can't know, I've been...fortunate. But I _understand_ that it bothers you, and that it can be hard to inflict something on others when you have dealt with it yourself. And I understand that it's difficult for you especially, given the circumstances that you have found yourself in.” He prayed that he wasn't overstepping his boundaries. “But I have lived in Crimea and spent years with beorc. I do _know_ what it is to be treated like garbage, all because your blood makes you different than the people around you.”

Soren looked at him for a long time, his expression and his scent unreadable. Ranulf didn't move, just met his eyes with what he hoped was a nonthreatening look. Then the sage swallowed, scribbled something on a scrap of parchment, and left the tent without another word. Confused, Ranulf picked up the parchment. Soren's writing was shaky but unmistakable, and it eased the worry he felt.

_Thank you._

 


	7. In which there are pants and several cups of wine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man I don't even know how I feel about this to be completely honest but I was sick of looking at it so here, just take it. Special thanks to TheGoddessWater for helping me with dialogue at some points (it is my greatest weakness).

_ **Chapter Six** _

_ **In which there are pants and several cups of wine** _

 

Shinon had started their morning before the sun was even all the way up, settling against the broad expanse of Gatrie's back and pressing his lips to the nape of the other man's neck. Absently he trailed his fingers along the blond's arm, tracing muscle and scars.

“I know you overheard Mist last night,” he finally murmured into Gatrie's hair. “And I don't care if it's tradition, I'm not having any of it this year.”

Gatrie chuckled. “Not _any_?”

The sniper took a moment to consider. “The part where you fuck me blind I can handle, the rest I can do without.”

“The rest?” Gatrie rolled over so he could look Shinon in the eye in the dim light. “Are you talking about the year that you said that the thief was a—what was it? 'Fucktrumpet'?—before you realized that it was Rolf's idea? Or the year after that when I got you and you punched me, and Greil confined you to quarters for two days for punching one of his men?”

“Gatrie—”

“Oh!” The knight grinned widely. “During the Mad King's War, when you tried to knock my teeth out after I got you! That's probably what you're referring to, right?”

“ _Gatrie,_ I swear—”

Still grinning, the blond leaned in to kiss him. “The year after that I just took all your laundry after it had been finished, so it wasn't so much taking the pants _off_ you as it was just taking your pants in general.” Another kiss. “I don't remember what you called me, but it wasn't polite. And I think the year after that—”

Shinon reached between them to cover the other man's mouth. “Alright, I'm an asshole, is that your point?”

Gatrie raised an eyebrow, and the sniper removed his hand. Then he entangled his fingers in the redhead's hair and pulled him in to kiss him. “You don't always respond well to tradition,” he finally murmured, rolling them over.

“ _Tradition_?” Shinon barked, briefly struggling. “It's not a _tradition_ , it's a _stupid_ thing that happens _every year_ that nobody wants to participate in but gets roped into anyway by _certain people_.”

“That's exactly what a tradition is,” Gatrie chuckled, nuzzling his lips against Shinon's neck. He was trying to distract him, Shinon realized, and he bit back a groan as the knight's teeth scraped along his earlobe.

“It is _not_ —”

“Hush.” It was Gatrie's turn to cover Shinon's mouth. “It's _funny_ , the way you overreact.” He took a moment to sweep Shinon's hair to one side and trail sucking kisses down the other man's throat and collarbone. “Endearing might be the right word for it, even if you did call Rolf a fucktrumpet.”

“I'm about to call _you—_ ”

“ _Hush_ ,” the knight repeated. He had worked his way down the sniper's torso at this point, trailing kisses the whole way. Briefly he examined the sizable scar on the right side of Shinon's stomach, right below his ribs. “Is it bothering you?” he finally asked, pressing open-mouthed kisses along the redhead's side.

The sniper buried the fingers of one hand in Gatrie's hair, unlacing his pants with the other. The blond chuckled and repeated the question even as he wrapped a hand around Shinon's cock.

“A bit,” Shinon groaned softly. He gasped as the knight's mouth replaced his hand. “ _Fuck_ , Gatrie.”

Gatrie chuckled and it looked as though he were contemplating a smart remark, but none came. Instead he seemed to swallow Shinon whole, teasing and dragging it out as long as he could. Ashera, but he was skilled, though it probably helped that they had been together for three years. Still, Shinon gasped and clawed at the knight's shoulders and eventually found himself doing his best not to fuck Gatrie's mouth outright, instead growling that he needed to finish _now_ , before people started waking up.

Gatrie hummed and obliged, and as he leaned back up, swallowing, Shinon could see the scratches he'd left all over the other man's shoulders. It was goddessdamned satisfying, staking claim to the other man despite the fact that his armour covered the majority of the marks. Grinning, the sniper pulled Gatrie in and licked a slow, deliberate line up his neck, drawing a long, satisfied groan.

“Fuuuck, Shinon.” Fingers caught in his hair as Shinon bit down, right under the blond's ear, where he knew it would be visible. “Ah! Hey, watch what you're doing!” The knight pulled away and dragged him in for a kiss. “It's like you're trying to stake a claim to me, or something.”

Shinon chuckled and sat up, handing the knight the ribbon he used to tie his hair and re-lacing his pants. “Well, the way you were going on about Lethe's sister the other day, I've got cause for concern. What else is a man to do?”

Gatrie knelt behind him and gathered his hair up, tying it tight. “In my defense, they're both gorgeous.”

“In _my_ defense,” Shinon retorted, “you've got a track record for noticing anything that's wearing a skirt. I still stand by what I said the other day. You _would_ compliment a tree if we put it in a dress.”

The blond's lips met his neck. “You know I don't mean anything by it. I can appreciate the way someone looks without it being more.”

Shinon snorted and caught the knight's hand as it snaked around his waist, lifting it and pressing a kiss to the inside of his wrist. “You are an absolute fucktrumpet.”

At that, Gatrie started laughing. “I love you, too.”

 

())CRAYOLA))>

 

She had expected him to be a bit annoyed, but what she hadn't expected was for him to start laughing, scoop her into his arms, and kiss her forehead.

“ _Really_ , Lin?”

Thank Ashera that he was taking it well, because if he had been a grouch about it she might well have lost her nerve. Marcia had reassured her that it was fine and that they had been so focused on the civil war as it was that they'd probably missed it, and then she had also reminded Elincia that Bastian would be less than pleased to hear that his queen had neglected (what he considered to be) a tradition. Still, she had been nervous, particularly because the count was nowhere to be found and as such couldn't be turned to if Geoffrey got huffy.

But he'd turned bright red as she pushed him down on the bed and unlaced his breeches, and he had stammered out something-or-other (she really hadn't been paying attention, and at this point it had happened two years in a row anyhow, with the only difference being this year's lack of Bastian) and at one point he had touched her shoulder as though to push her away. That had been terrifying, but still, she had pressed forward.

If she could rule her country and halt a civil war, she could most certainly take Geoffrey's pants.

And it wasn't really that terrible, having his arms around her and his laughter enveloping her, and she found herself laughing with him, letting him roll them over and press his lips to her neck, cheeks, forehead. Gradually they became more heated, that familiar warmth building at her core. One of his hands found its way to her breast, and he let out an appreciative groan when she hooked her legs around his, drawing him close. Ashera, but it felt good to have Geoffrey on top of her, half-naked and flushed and both of them pretending that his arousal wasn't pressing against her so intimately, moreso than usual given that his breeches were in an unceremonious pile on the floor. Grinning, she leaned up to nip at his throat. His breath hitched and his hips seemed to move of their own accord.

“Elincia,” he breathed, and a moment later, “I need to g-get back t-to—”

“General,” she replied, taking a moment to pull his collar aside and examine where his tan ended, “you will give me a moment of your time.”

“Your Majesty—”

In response to that, Elincia bit him, relishing the way he cried out in surprise. What might have been half an objection escaped his lips as she latched onto the juncture between his neck and shoulder, and then he was breathing hard and rocking against her, letting out her name in a soft hiss as she brushed his blue hair aside to trail open-mouthed kisses up the side of his neck. When she reached his earlobe she bit down there too, sucking gently, albeit not hard enough to leave a mark. At this point he was practically whimpering, clinging to her and breathing heavily, still grinding against her. Goddess, he seemed ready to burst, the way he was thrusting against her through his smallclothes. A wicked idea seized her, and Elincia made a mental note to thank Marcia for reminding her of the Greil Mercenaries' bizarre springtime tradition. Carefully she fisted a hand in his hair and dragged her teeth along the shell of his ear, something she had noticed he particularly liked.

“ _Geoffrey_ ,” she purred, and that was all it took. The paladin let out a long, low groan into her shoulder, his whole body tensing before he sank into her, arms finally giving out and heat pooling between them. For a long time, he was silent, and she noticed that his ears were turning red. “Geoffrey, it's alright.”

“I'm sorry,” he murmured into her shoulder.

“For what?” When he refused to look at her or answer, she sighed. “General Geoffrey, look at me and explain. Why are you apologizing?”

“Don't you use your queen voice on me, Your Majesty,” he huffed, finally propping himself back up with one arm and looking at her. “You know why I'm apologizing.”

“I don't!” Elincia felt her brow furrowing and tried to relax. “But maybe I'm misunderstanding. Please, Geoffrey.”

“I'm apologizing for...” he paused, searching for the right words. “...a lack of self-control. I shouldn't...that...it shouldn't have happened.”

It was almost unbelievable, and she couldn't help laughing. When he made as though he was going to get up and leave, she threw her arms around his neck, drawing him in and kissing him.

“Geoffrey, it's just me,” she murmured against his lips.

“Elincia—”

“Don't interrupt me, Geoffrey.” He gave her a surprised look, and she kissed him again. “Geoffrey, it's _me_. You go on and on about how you're mine, and that you'll give me whatever I want or need, _because_ you're mine. But that means that I am yours, too.” Then she felt herself turning red. “And I want to do the same for you.”

Finally he was smiling. “So your reasoning was that it was appropriate to call me to your quarters in the middle of the day, force me down and take my pants despite my protests, and then do your absolute best to make me lose complete control of myself.”

Elincia nodded and kissed him. “See, I knew you'd understand.” Then she pulled away, sitting up and glancing down. Goddess, they'd made a bit of a mess. “Really, you should be thanking me.”

He raised an eyebrow at her. “Oh?”

She grinned devilishly. “If I hadn't taken your pants, you'd have needed to change yours by this point.” Geoffrey turned bright red at that, and Elincia lay back down, inviting him to settle back against her. He accepted the offer, curling against her side. “I _wanted_ that, Geoffrey, and I know that you did too.”

“I love you,” Geoffrey breathed. “Thank you, Lin.”

It would be the first time she said it to him. She caught his hand, squeezing tightly.

“I love you, too.”

 

())CRAYOLA))>

 

Muarim let out a heavy sigh, and from somewhere above them he heard Vika snort.

“I can't say that this is the most productive use of our time, little one.”

The sage beamed up at him. “Well it's not like I can celebrate with Sothe right now.”

 

())CRAYOLA))>

 

He found Soren in the strategy tent just past noon, surrounded by papers. Ink smeared the smaller man's fingers, and Ike noticed a smudge on his cheek as well. “I brought you tea.”

“Mm.” The tactician reached out absently with one hand, flipping through pages with the other, not so much as glancing up. “Speaking of which, you bought us a rather generous satchel of tea at the last town we passed through; do you think we should include that as an expense or write it off as personal spending?”

Ike frowned, placing Soren's cup in his hand. The sage accepted and breathed deep before he took a sip, and the tension in his shoulders seemed to dissipate slightly. Every page in front of him was filled to the edges with numbers and notes, and Ike recognized what his husband was working on.

“Finances? This early in the day?”

Soren still didn't look up. “Ranulf said he would cover all our costs, and he can't well do that if we don't document our spending.”

Ike leaned over Soren's shoulder, partly to examine the paperwork and partly to drop a kiss to the top of the tactician's head. “Well, I'd technically call the tea personal spending,” he murmured after a moment. Carefully he caught the sage's chin and tilted his head back, and Soren finally turned to kiss him properly. “But I might say it was necessary, given the amount of stress you're under because of Skrimir.”

Soren rolled his eyes and indicated the chair next to him. “I can handle him without needing extra tea, Ike.”

The swordsman grinned and sat down. “But I can't handle _you_ if you're worked up all the time.”

There was a long pause, and Soren noted the tea as an expense. Ike chuckled at that, and Soren turned to kiss him again. “Are you staying here, then?”

Ike groaned. “You know what day it is. I know you know what day it is because you're in here at noon doing finances, instead of someplace where people can come and go as they please. I'm not going _anywhere_ , not until I know for a fact that Mist and the brothers have all gotten it out of their systems.”

“I'm surprised that Ranulf and Skrimir are allowing this sort of nonsense.” Soren was shuffling through his papers again, and handed a stack to Ike. “Put those someplace safe, where you won't forget to give them to Ranulf later.”

He nodded, dropped them on an available chair, and kicked off his boots. “You _know_ I'll forget, Soren.”

“I can hope that one day you'll learn some responsibility regarding the business side of your business.”

There was a long silence as Soren stacked pages, occasionally writing something down or sipping his tea. Finally he looked over to Ike. “What are you thinking about?”

Ike shrugged and finished his tea. “When we were younger. You were happier then. Or at the very least, not as tense.” He placed his cup on the table and leaned over, resting his head on the sage’s shoulder.

“I bore fewer burdens. I knew nothing of my brand, of the hardships of war.” Soren took a moment to date the last piece of parchment and set his quill down.

“You were happy when we were together.”

The sage sipped his tea. “I am still happy when we are together.”

Ike smiled. Carefully he took Soren’s tea from him and placed it on the table. Then he hoisted the sage up and pulled him into his lap. Soren gave him a look. Ike chuckled and kissed him.

“Do you remember the night we got together?”

Soren’s lips curved upward. He straddled Ike’s hips and pulled him close, letting his arms fall around Ike's shoulders. It wasn’t meant to be a sexual gesture and Ike took it as nothing more, simply Soren being intimate.

“Yes,” Soren murmured. “Very clearly. We were out hunting with Oscar, and you and I were sharing a tent, and you had the gall to try and kiss me as I slept.”

“And you opened your eyes and scared the life out of me and asked exactly that. If I was going to kiss you.” Ike pressed his forehead to Soren’s.

“And you stammered and tried to avoid the subject and finally told me that you had feelings for me.”

“And you asked me _why_.”

Soren chuckled at that. “And what did you tell me?”

“The same things that I would still tell you now,” he murmured against the sage's lips. “That I love you because you are by far the smartest person I know and that you are incredibly handsome and that you make me feel like the most important man in the world, and because you’re the one who introduced me to cinnamon-liquorice tea and red wine, and you've got such perfect writing. You're so talented, Soren, and I couldn't dream of working alongside anyone else. You have a wonderful laugh and a good sense of humour if we get you in the right mood, and you're good company, even if all we're doing is sitting in the same place doing completely different things.” Ike kissed his brand. “I love you because you are _you_ , even on days that you don't like what you are, and even on days when you're upset with me for doing something reckless.”

Soren was flushed, just barely, but he was grinning. “And then after that? Do you remember?”

Ike rolled his eyes. “I got all nervous and began stammering. You rolled over and said you were going back to sleep and then I made to roll you back over. And you caught my hand and kissed my fingers.”

“And you kissed my brand,” Soren continued. His arms tightened around Ike's shoulders as he pressed himself closer, and Ike squeezed him, pressing his lips to the other man's throat. “Yes, just like that.”

“And then I got all worried about it and almost didn’t go through with it, but you were underneath me and looking up and holding my hand and you just looked so damned beautiful, and you were giving me that look you always do, that _get on with it_ look, yes, that one, right there.” Ike couldn’t help chuckling as Soren flicked his ear.

“And you kissed me,” Soren breathed. His crimson eyes were shining, his slender fingers buried in Ike's hair, nails gently caressing.

“Hardly.” Ike let his eyes drift shut. “And you asked if I was satisfied, and when I was unsure, you grabbed me and hauled me down on top of you and—”

Soren kissed him, hard and sudden, and Ike groaned as the sage's tongue delved deep, lighting fire in his veins. It was entirely unlike their first kisses; this was all tongues and teeth and rapidly-growing _want_ , the dark-haired man teasingly grinding against Ike and chuckling when Ike gripped his hips and arched upward, seeking more friction. The sage's hands worked open his collar and then his mouth was on Ike's neck, biting and sucking and leaving a trail that would be obvious for days. Ike slid his hands to the tactician's backside, squeezing, and Soren bit down on the side of his neck harder than he had anticipated, drawing blood and groaning in response. Soren was taking great care to make sure that both sides of Ike's neck matched in terms of bruising (and really, who was Ike to complain?) and after he was content with his work, he swept his tongue across the shell of Ike's ear, followed by another, gentler bite. One hand slid down his chest, tracing the contours of muscle before Soren finally gripped him through his pants, fisting the other hand in Ike's hair and pulling his head back so he could access the commander's throat. Ike groaned, gripping Soren's shoulder as the sage teased him, all gentle touches and wet kisses and not nearly enough of the contact that he found himself craving.

It had been _weeks_ since they'd had a whole day to themselves, weeks since they had had a chance to be truly intimate, and now that it was here it would be a shame to waste it.

“I need you,” Soren murmured, pressing a final kiss to Ike's lips. He slid off the chair and fell to his knees in front of Ike, unbuckling his belt in record time. Nimble fingers unlaced his pants next, and then the sage was sliding them down, pressing wet kisses to Ike's inner thigh, drawing a shiver. Ike buried his fingers in Soren's hair, desperate for attention, and briefly he wondered how the other man was maintaining his composure when he had so clearly articulated his want just moments before, but it was Soren, and Soren was nothing if not skilled at keeping a level head, no matter what.

“Please,” he breathed. It had been an _eternity_ , and Soren was getting farther away from his goal, trailing his lips down Ike's calf, inch by inch. And while it was _nice_ , being undressed so slowly and attentively, Ike was fairly certain that if Soren didn't touch him soon he might explode.

“Ike.” Soren's tone indicated that he was smiling, and Ike looked down. The look on his husband's face was decidedly mischievous. “You know what day it is.”

“You _wouldn't_.”

It turned out that Soren would. He didn't even move quickly, but Ike was so dumbfounded that he couldn't help but watch the sage step out of reach, pants in hand, and saunter toward the tent entrance. As he passed the stack of paperwork that Ike had set aside, he picked that up too.

“I'll give these to Ranulf for you.” His voice was low, heavy with want. “You best be in our tent before I get there.”

Ike swallowed and nodded, and Soren slipped out.

 

())CRAYOLA))>

 

Ranulf had caught the scent of Soren long before the tactician actually arrived. Wind, fire, lighting, ink, and parchment, mingling with the steel and leather that made up Ike, traced with dragon (which was something Ranulf had often been curious about, but about which he had no right to ask) and wrapped in the undeniable scent of _lust_. When he spotted the other man, Ranulf grinned. There was no mistaking it. Soren had a stack of invoices in one hand and Ike's pants in the other, and when he caught the cat's eye one corner of his mouth twitched upward slightly.

“I wouldn't have guessed you'd be the one adhering to tradition,” Ranulf chuckled when the sage was within earshot.

“There is much that you don't know about me, Ranulf.” Soren had never said his name so casually before. He held out the invoices. “These are for you.”

He accepted the parchment and flipped through briefly. Then he glanced up and raised an eyebrow at the sage. Soren's expression had always been fairly neutral, but now that tiny grin was still present, and it grew when he seemed to realize what exactly Ranulf had just seen. The cat opened his mouth, decided against causing a scene regarding finances in the middle of camp, and caught the sage's wrist, dragging him into his tent.

“ _Really_? You're charging us for _tea_?”

“If you have issue with our spending, take it up with the commander,” Soren replied. His expression was back to that unreadable half-scowl that Ranulf was most familiar with. “He's the one who determined it was an expense, not me.”

Ranulf groaned, and then chuckled, sinking onto his bedroll and flipping through a few more pages. “You're absolutely merciless, you know.”

“Mm.”

“But we'd be lost without you.” He meant it, and tapped Soren's ankle with his foot. “You're very good at what you do, Soren.”

Ah, there it was again, and it was unmistakable; Soren was smiling, just barely, and it was for _him_ , not for Ike. “You hired me for exactly that reason.”

“I did.” He sighed, indicating the spread of parchment before him. “I'll have a look at all this and see if there's anything I disagree with.” Then he grinned suggestively. “I'd invite you to stay and help, but I'm sure you've got plans, if Ike's lack of attire is anything to go by.”

“Mm.” It wasn't an answer, exactly, but the colour that rose to Soren's cheeks was all the confirmation in the world. “I had assumed we wouldn't be marching today, given the way things are unfolding.”

“No, you're completely right. At this point there's no way to get everyone under control and make progress before nightfall, and I don't plan to throw off everyone's sleep pattern even if we _are_ capable of marching through the night.” Ranulf stood, clapping a hand onto the sage's shoulder and grinning when it wasn't shrugged off. “Go on, have some fun. You've both earned a day to yourselves, but you especially, Soren. Your patience with Skrimir has been...” he paused, searching for the right word. “...astounding. I _know_ how difficult he can be to work with, especially given that laguz tactics are what they are. He's been testing your patience and you've held together far better than anyone gives you credit for, and you deserve a chance to get your frustrations out. In fact,” Ranulf smirked, “I think that's your official job for today. To get your frustrations out.”

At this point, Soren's flush had spread to his ears; clearly he wasn't used to receiving praise or orders that were laced with innuendo. “My frustration is none of your concern.”

“It is if it affects your work.” Ranulf spun the shorter man around and opened the tent flap. “Which I know it wouldn't, but as your employer I think it's better to be safe than sorry.” He lowered his voice as they stepped outside. “Now get going. I'm sure Ike is just as desperate for you as you are for him. If nothing else, you should give his pants back.”

Soren muttered something in Ancient that Ranulf didn't quite catch as the sage stalked away, but he was heading in the direction of his and Ike's tent, the commander's pants half-hidden beneath his cloak. The cat chuckled to himself, remembered the stack of parchment on his bedroll that needed to be looked over, and decided that there were better ways to spend the afternoon.

 

())CRAYOLA))>

 

It had been torturous, waiting, but finally Soren appeared. He grinned when he noticed Ike's state of undress and the telltale way their blankets tented at his hips, indicating his arousal, and immediately the sage shrugged off the outer layer of his robes, never breaking eye contact with Ike. His shirt joined his robes on the ground a moment later, followed quickly by his pants. Goddess, he was beautiful, and Ike reached out and caught the sage's hand, pulling him down and kissing him. Soren fit against him perfectly, tongue meeting his and his fingers finding their way back into Ike's hair. A soft gasp broke free as Ike trailed kisses down his jaw and neck, then across his bare shoulder, tracing the faded outline of a long-healed wound with his tongue.

Soren broke away, slipping beneath the blankets and curling against Ike's side, fingers tracing teasing lines into his chest. After a moment, he spoke. “I'm under orders from our employer.”

“What?” Ike frowned. “I...I thought that you'd be here. You _are_ here, you can't—”

Garnet eyes locked onto his, silencing him. “You'll like the job, Ike.” As he spoke, Soren reached down, finally wrapping his hand around Ike's cock.

“O-oh?”

“Mm.” Lips met his neck. “I'm supposed to get my frustrations out.”

“ _Oh_?” This was interesting.

“Something about making sure my stress doesn't impact my work.” Soren leaned down, circling one of Ike's nipples with his tongue, drawing a gasp. “It's not an unreasonable request, given the nature of our contract.” Then he looked Ike in the eye, grinning ferally and squeezing his length. “And so, Commander, I'll be needing your assistance.”

Ike swallowed hard; Soren had never made sex seem so businesslike, but in its own way, it was arousing. “I'd be glad to help in any way I can,” he breathed, arching into the sage's touch.

“Good,” Soren purred, and then more gently, “On your hands and knees, Ike.”

Ike obeyed, and Soren sat next to him, pressing his lips against Ike's ribs. One of the tactician's hands wandered over his body, and through his peripheral Ike could see Soren stroking himself with the other. Finally he stopped, and Ike heard him rummaging through their belongings.

_Oh_.

He had expected the slickness of oil spread over Soren's fingers; instead he felt the chill of half the container poured over him. The shock made him gasp and sink to his forearms, moaning as the sage's fingers followed suit, coating him thoroughly. Soren let out a pleased sound at this point and leaned over, smoothing a layer of oil over Ike's cock and whispering for the swordsman to thrust. Ike obeyed, grinding into Soren's hand and gritting his teeth; it was something, at least, but Soren's grip was loose, teasing. Not enough.

After some time Soren pulled away. A new wave of arousal overtook Ike and he moaned at the loss of contact, but at least now he'd get some relief. Fingers grazed against his entrance and Ike bit his lip in anticipation, but Soren was still intent on teasing. Ike groaned, pushing against them to no avail; Soren simply shifted with him, his touches feather-light. Soft whispers of what was to come.

“ _Please_ , Soren,” Ike finally begged, and the sage chuckled.

“Please what?” Soren went right on tormenting him.

Ike groaned, spreading his legs further. “I need you, Soren, right now. Please, _please_ touch me.”

“I am touching—”

“You know what I mean,” Ike retorted, and suddenly Soren's fingers were inside him, sending electricity through his nerves and making him cry out in pleasure. Ashera, he hadn't expected it, but it was far from painful, and the sage was always careful. Soren set a slow, torturous rhythm, refusing to touch Ike anywhere else, occasionally commenting on how _good_ Ike looked, spread out and at his mercy. There wasn't much else to do but groan and be patient; despite his best efforts and planning, Soren hadn't had full control over anyone or anything since the night of their first battle, and Ike wasn't about to take this away from him no matter how badly he needed to come.

Eventually Soren shifted, smoothing one hand down Ike's back and letting it settle on his hip as he positioned himself. Wordlessly he eased in, gripping Ike's waist and groaning the whole time. It was almost overwhelming, and when he was fully sheathed Soren sank against him, pressing kisses to Ike's spine.

“Do something for me,” he finally murmured, stroking a single finger up Ike's still-slick erection. He still hadn't moved, content to take in the sensation of their bodies connected so intimately, and Ike wasn't about to complain. Soren fit him perfectly, stretching him wide and filling him far beyond the point of mere satisfaction.

“Anything,” Ike breathed.

“Don't stifle your voice.” Soren moved just slightly, the shallowest thrusts imaginable. “You always bite your lip, or grit your teeth, or muffle it somehow. I want to hear you, and,” Soren gently palmed the head of Ike's cock and gripped him tightly, “I want Ranulf to hear you, too.”

The thought of it sent a thrill through him, and he felt his cock twitch. “Absolutely.”

“Good.” Then, gently, “I love you, Ike.”

“I love you too.” He rolled his hips slightly, drawing a moan from the other man. “Please, Soren.”

“As you wish, Commander.”

 

())CRAYOLA))>

 

It had taken no time at all for Kyza to notice him, grin ferally, and stalk toward him. Ranulf recognized the look on the other man's face and knew he had no chance.

Still, it wouldn't do to be out in the open.

He got a fair ways out of camp before he slowed and let Kyza catch up to him. Then the tiger was backing him against a tree, purring deep in his chest and kissing him even as he fumbled with the shorter man's clothing. Ranulf met the tiger's tongue with equal fervour and reached up to loosen both their collars, and Kyza nipped at his lower lip before pulling away, nuzzling against Ranulf's chest as he slid the cat's pants down.

“It's good to see you adopting the traditions of our friends,” Ranulf chuckled, entangling his fingers in the tiger's hair and tilting his head back, eager.

Kyza hummed, and when Ranulf's pants had been tossed aside he leaned back up and dragged his teeth across the cat's throat. “It's too good an opportunity to pass up, Captain.”

“O-oh?” Ranulf gasped, gripping Kyza's hair. Goddess, they had spent six consecutive nights together, three of which had involved Skrimir as well. How on earth did Kyza still have the energy for this?

“I'd take as many chances to be with you as possible,” the tiger murmured. After a moment he caught Ranulf's tongue between his teeth, sending a spark of pleasure through him. Kyza's hands were wandering, and after a moment the tiger hoisted him up, using the tree as leverage to keep him up. Ranulf groaned, hooking his arms around the larger man's shoulders and wrapping his legs around Kyza's waist. A shudder ran through him as Kyza's tongue met the side of his neck again. Kyza was _hard_ , grinding against him and pressing biting kisses to every inch of Ranulf's neck that he could.

Between kisses he managed to ask Ranulf to take him, and the cat chuckled.

“Not today, Kyza.”

Kyza pulled away just enough to look Ranulf in the eye, and he seized the opportunity to leave marks of his own on the tiger. “What—nn—what do you— _Captain—_ mean? Ha—ah!—aven't I—”

“I _always_ take you, Kyza.” He tightened his legs around the other man's hips, and they both groaned at the friction.

“You're my superior officer,” Kyza murmured, but the idea already seemed to have taken root. “I-it wouldn't be—”

“I can ask you or I can order you, Kyza.” Ranulf pressed a sucking kiss against his throat, and when he felt the tiger squeeze his backside he dragged him down, forcing his tongue against the other man's. “There's oil in my satchel, and I know you'll be far gentler with me than Skrimir is. I need this.”

“Captain—”

“Kyza, please.” He couldn't be bothered to wait for the other man and fumbled through his bag himself as the tiger nuzzled against his neck, contemplating. When he finally found what he was looking for, he caught Kyza's chin, looking him in the eye. “I'm not ordering you, as your superior.” Gently he buried his claws in Kyza's hair, drawing a low purr. “I'm asking you as your friend.”

Kyza nodded, pressing their foreheads together. “I'd be happy to, Ranulf.”

 

())CRAYOLA))>

 

Not that Skrimir had been happy, when he came across them in camp later that afternoon, and he'd uttered a series of threats before Ranulf could finally get a word in edgewise, pointing out that he'd been doing finances with Soren (he left out the part where he had done exactly none of the work, and had only read over the first two pages) and deserved a break, and that it would have been rude to interrupt Skrimir while he was sparring. The lion had grunted at that, a look of deep concentration on his face. After a long time he inhaled deeply, taking in some scent off Ranulf's clothes. Then he frowned.

“What is that smell?”

Ranulf looked at him blankly. “You’ll have to be more specific than that.”

“On the tactician. Soren.” Skrimir inhaled again. “He smells different than the other beorc, and it isn't just because he's a mage or because he smells like Ike. I can't place it.”

The cat chose his words carefully; Skrimir was not known for his ability to keep a secret. “It’s simply the way he is. His blood, perhaps, or something like that.”

Skrimir nodded, seeming to understand. “He’s Parentless.”

Ranulf tensed, but didn't deny it. “That’s rude.”

Skrimir shrugged. “Well, he _is_. There's nothing else he could be. A crime against the Goddess. Parentless. It's a shame, really, he seems—”

Fury took hold of Ranulf. He growled low in his throat and lashed out, striking Skrimir in the jaw. The lion was caught off-guard and stumbled. Ranulf hit him again, and then a third time, until Skrimir was finally sprawled on the ground. He hadn’t fought back and now he was just looking up, bewildered. Ranulf bared his fangs.

“I don’t care if you _are_ the future king of Gallia. You will _never_ use that word again.”

“Well, what am I _supposed_ to call him, then? Branded?”

And Ranulf kicked him hard in the temple. Skrimir fell, and Ranulf didn’t bother to see if he was alright; Skrimir had taken harder hits before and been fine.

People were starting to gather. Ranulf stalked away.

 

())CRAYOLA))>

 

“I’m sorry.”

Soren raised an eyebrow. “I beg your pardon?”

Ranulf looked away. “I…Skrimir is not in ideal fighting or marching condition right now. It's my doing. I take full responsibility. I apologize.”

The sage looked at him incredulously. “And what did he do to warrant you attacking him? I assume that's what you mean when you say it's your fault.”

Ranulf gritted his teeth. “I would rather not say.”

“Ranulf.” Soren’s eyes were boring into him. He had no choice.

“He called you Parentless.”

The sage snorted. “Is that all? Really? I had hoped for better reasoning.”

“It is not right to call you that. You are half beorc and half laguz. Nothing more.” Ranulf finally met Soren’s eye. “On his behalf, I would like to apologize as well.”

“It means nothing, coming from someone who has done no wrong.” Soren’s eyes were softer now. “But I suppose that I appreciate the thought.”

Ranulf placed his hands on the sage’s shoulders, squeezing. “It isn’t right. The way that you’re treated simply because of a birthmark, or because you smell like a Goldoan. It’s—”

“Goldoan?”

The cat frowned; had Soren not known? “Yes, Goldoan. You smell like a dragon.” Then he shrugged. “It would explain your affinity for magics, and why your hair is the colour that it is, and why your mark is red. And why you're so terrifying on the battlefield. You fight with that same ferocity, but maybe I'm just reading into things too much.

He laughed, and Soren exhaled suddenly, laughing in his own way. It seemed too peaceful, as though Soren should have been giving him the cold shoulder the way he did to everyone else. But then, he had been warming up lately, ever since they had taken Mugill.

“Thank you for telling me,” Soren finally said. “I have…I suspect that Stefan is descended from Gallia; his sense of smell is too great for him to be Goldoan or from one of the bird tribes. But neither of us had any leads regarding my...lineage. And no Goldoan has had a child for centuries, or so all the libraries say. Not that it matters.”

Ranulf snorted. “Dheginsea has a knack for hiding things he doesn’t want people to know, whether it’s about his whole country or simply the birth of a single child.” The cat scrubbed a hand through his hair. “I happen to know that there's a cask of wine in storage that we've been saving, and I could use a drink after what just happened. Would you care to join me?”

Soren didn't vocalize a response, but he did stand, motioning for Ranulf to lead the way.

Half a mark later they were seated in the strategy tent, three jugs of wine on the table between them and drinking from mugs Ranulf had pilfered from the mess tent. Soren had been mostly silent, content to sit and drink and listen to Ranulf as he babbled about nothing in particular. He shrugged off his outer robes and cloak after his second refill, and Ranulf took a moment to grin and tease him about love bites on his neck. The sage's expression shifted at that point, and he cocked an eyebrow, lips curving upward.

“I thought you made your orders perfectly clear.” His voice was like warm silk, and Ranulf briefly wondered what it would be like to do this more often. “I was to get my frustrations out.”

The cat burst out laughing. Soren had a point. “I'm just glad to see that you did, is all, although I'll confess I do think that I heard you as well. But I was worried that Skrimir might get to you and spoil your mood before you reached Ike.”

There was a long silence.

“How can you bear to have that brute as the heir to your throne?” Soren finally asked. He held out his empty mug, and Ranulf refilled it, ignoring the bluntness with which he'd asked.

“Well, it's not unusual,” he replied. “It's how we choose our kings.”

“By picking the loudest, strongest person instead of one who shows even the slightest semblance of intelligence?” The sage huffed and took another long sip of wine. “If I have to continue explaining why charging in blind is not a valid strategy—”

Ranulf rumpled his hair gently, and Soren glared at him, swatting his hand away. “It's not as though anything has ever happened to make Skrimir think otherwise.” He shrugged, downing the last of his wine. It was Soren's turn to provide the refill, which Ranulf accepted. “He trusts us, to some extent, and I think that's why he's so reckless. He doesn't believe that we would ever let him down, on the battlefield or otherwise.”

“I suppose.” Soren sighed, slouching against the back of his chair. “Herding cats would be easier than this. I don't know how you deal with him all day.”

Ranulf blinked; had that been a pun? Soren's expression was blank as he stared into space. It had to have been coincidence. The cat sipped his wine. “He's not that bad, once you get used to him,” he finally offered. “A bit boisterous, maybe.”

“Boisterous.” Soren chuckled at that. “Right.”

“Well, what would you call it?”

“A severe lack of restraint.”

“A lack of restraint isn't that bad.” When Soren shot him a look, he considered. “It adds an element of unpredictability, if nothing else.” The sage didn't look convinced, and Ranulf sighed. “But I know that you don't like things being unpredictable, if it can be helped.”

Soren downed the rest of his wine and helped himself to more. “I abhor it. I will acknowledge the strategic advantage it might give, but in most circumstances it is not particularly helpful.”

“I understand.” Ranulf grinned at him, and Soren raised an eyebrow. “You'd prefer if he could be unpredictable in a foreseeable way.”

It sounded ridiculous, and Soren must have realized it too, rolling his eyes. “That would be ideal,” he finally said, and it was so absurd that they both started laughing.

Finally Ranulf nudged him with his shoulder, and the sage didn't pull away. Goddess, he had to be drunk at this point; they'd gotten through at least four pints of wine each, though aside from the way he was leaning into Ranulf there was no indication that he was anywhere close to intoxicated. The cat carefully, _carefully_ let his arm fall around the sage, and was rewarded when Soren shifted toward him, letting Ranulf partially support his weight. For a long time, they sat like that, and then Soren chuckled to himself.

“If nothing else, he'd make a good battering ram should the need arise.”

Ranulf burst out laughing at that. “See, you understand.”

“More or less.” Soren shifted again, and Ranulf couldn't help taking advantage of the situation just a little, burying his fingers in the sage's dark hair and pulling him in. Whether it was apparent or not, Soren _was_ out of sorts, and whether he'd remember it tomorrow or not (though hopefully what he did remember would be pleasant), Ranulf was intent on proving that he was no threat. Soren turned to eye him suspiciously but didn't pull away. The cat pretended that nothing was unusual, taking a long swallow of wine.

“Just be patient,” he finally said, letting his claws gently trail over Soren's scalp. “Skrimir will come around. He does like you, and if nothing else he respects you as a warrior. He doesn't stop talking about how powerful you are when you're fighting.” Ranulf sighed. “It's a bit irritating, honestly. I haven't been with anyone but Kyza in _ages—_ which is fine, don't get me wrong, Kyza's great—but now Skrimir goes on and on about you whenever he gets a chance. It makes it hard to keep going.” He swallowed, realizing what he'd said. Soren was giving him a bemused look, and he felt himself turning red. “When he's talking about you while we're, um.” He cleared his throat, realizing that recovery was impossible. “You know, I'm not sure why I brought this up.”

“Because we've both had too much to drink.” Instead of cutting them both off, though, Soren poured them the last of the wine and settled back against him, letting out the softest sound when Ranulf resumed his attentions. “I'll forget you said anything on the subject.”

“You will not,” Ranulf replied, grinning. “Your mind is like a steel trap; nothing escapes. I do appreciate the sentiment, though. I know it's not, uh...not typical conversation between colleagues.”

“It isn't,” Soren agreed, tilting his head so Ranulf could access the back of his neck. “Completely inappropriate conversation to have between colleagues, in fact.”

Was he hinting at something? “What about friends, then?”

Soren stiffened slightly. “What _about_ friends?”

Carefully, Ranulf continued. “Us. I mean...everyone seems to think you're completely stone-faced, unshakeable. Even my men can't get a good read on you, and cats are fairly good at that sort of thing, so that makes them uneasy. No, hang on, hear me out.” Soren had made as though to stand, and Ranulf tightened his grip slightly. The sage relaxed somewhat, though not completely, clutching his cup in both hands. “Beorc in particular have a hard time reading you, but I like to think that at the very least I understand your situation, even if I can't fully relate to it. I understand your reasoning, why you're so careful to not let anyone in, and I don't blame you in the slightest. But I always thought that maybe you'd be more relaxed around the people you trust. Willing to have casual conversation, let other people touch you, that kind of thing.”

“I would call that an...accurate assessment,” Soren murmured into his wine.

How on earth had he gotten this far without the sage shouting at him, or storming away? Ranulf took a moment to thank his lucky stars that Soren wasn't an angry drunk. “We don't all hate you, y'know.”

“Ex _cuse—_ ”

“Soren.” He leaned his head against the sage's, still gently massaging tiny circles into the other man's scalp. “I can honestly say that you come across as a Spirit Charmer, both in personality and scent. I wouldn't be surprised if you _were_ one, even though Ike tells me you've never made a pact. It makes some people want to avoid you, but it's because of your strength, not because you're half-dragon. It would take a lot of doing for any of my men to correctly identify you.” He paused, considering. “It's also in part because you are completely, undoubtedly Ike's. Neither of you has let that be even slightly ambiguous.”

Soren was quiet, and after a moment he placed his cup on the table. Outside, they could hear the sounds of campfires being extinguished, and more faintly, the last shouts of those who had opted to celebrate the mercenaries' ludicrous holiday. Ranulf downed the last of his wine, placed his mug next to Soren's with some difficulty, and frowned when he realized exactly how far away from sober he had gotten. After a moment's contemplation he managed to stagger to his feet, dragging the sage with him. Just enough to move away from the table and settle on the ground, leaned up against a crate with Soren's cloak wrapped around them and only mild protests from the smaller man. They might have been able to get the attention of someone outside the tent, but seeing him drunk was one thing that Ranulf didn't want his men to experience, even less so with the Mercenaries' tactician as his drinking companion.

Besides, eventually Ike would find them, and he was unlikely to make any assumptions about the situation. Until then they had to be patient or sober up, whichever came first. Ranulf pointed this out, and the sage didn't say anything, just sat there, half-leaning on him.

The dark-haired man's pulse was racing, and Ranulf was sure that his mind was moving just as fast, and really, why wouldn't it be, given the unlikely way the evening had unfolded? But he wasn't sure what he could say that might comfort the sage, so instead he opted to keep trailing circles over the nape of Soren's neck and hope for the best.

“Thank you,” Soren finally whispered. “For...” He gestured vaguely with one hand, seemingly at a loss for words.

Ranulf squeezed. “I know.”

“You do,” agreed Soren.

 

())CRAYOLA))>

 

“Really, we're at least a few weeks behind, what with the rescue, and the job with the Alliance, and all the walking we've had to do.” Mist was grinning widely from where she was safely perched atop a stack of crates. “And Rolf and I both had sore throats for a while and were exhausted. You should be thankful that I even remembered at all, and you should be doubly thankful that I waited until the very end of the day to come after you.”

“I am absolutely not thankful,” Boyd retorted, glancing around. “ _Every_ year, Mist.”

“Not _every_ year; I didn't get to you at all during the Mad King's War.”

Boyd eyed the crates contemplatively; he doubted that they would be sturdy if he were to climb them too, but he wasn't about to let Mist just get away with this. “Fine, you have gone after me every year, except for the Mad King's War, for five consecutive years, and—”

“I wouldn't go after you if you were targeted by anyone else.” Mist adjusted her position slightly and beamed down at him.

Boyd pretended that her skirt hadn't revealed as much of her legs as it had, and hefted himself up on an adjacent barrel. “I am widely loved and as such, I am not targeted. Except for by you.”

“ _Please_ , widely loved?” Mist laughed. “You're a total pain, Boyd, _that's_ why I target you.” She held his pants out in front of her, inspecting the waist. “They're so loose without your belt, so you're an easy target. I can fix that, if you like.”

“I'll get you back,” Boyd threatened.

“In your dreams, Boyd.” When he made a grab for his pants she lifted them out of his grasp effortlessly. “You can't take the pants off someone who doesn't wear any.” Her grin widened even more, if that were possible. “Why do you think I always wear skirts or dresses this time of year?”

It was a fair call, and he couldn't believe that he'd never realized it before. Mist had _never_ been on the receiving end of Steal Your Tentmate's Pants Day, and not once had it occurred to him that it was because she only wore skirts in the spring and summer. He grinned and carefully shifted his weight onto the stack of crates she was sitting on, reaching for his pants. “I'll give you that that's clever, kiddo.”

“ _Kiddo_?” At once she had thrown his pants to the ground and was hopping down to his level. He swallowed hard and looked away just a bit too late as her skirt lifted. When had her legs gotten that long? “Ex _cuse_ me?”

He spun her around and gently shoved her off the crates, jumping down and scrambling for his pants. Mist was faster, and she stepped in front of him and jabbed a finger into his chest, standing on her toes to glare. “Ex _cuse_ me?” she repeated.

Grinning, he caught her around the waist and hefted her up. “You're so short.” Then he leaned in, making sure she could see the way he enunciated. “Kid-do.”

Instead of fighting, she looked him straight in the eye, their noses almost touching and her bare legs pressed against his. She was scowling and had the same look on her face that she had had during the last battle, right before she'd thrust her sword through a man. “Just because you're bigger than me doesn't mean I'm a kid, and frankly, if I'm the one fixing all your clothes, _Boyd_ , and packing your bag, and giving you extra at meals, I'd say _you're_ the kid.”

Boyd snorted and leaned against the crates. “Whatever you say, kiddo.”

She was livid, even though she was trying not to show it. “Please. You can't even defend your argument so you're defaulting to an insult. You're such a child.” Her hands met the wood on either side of his head, and if he hadn't known he was holding her up he'd have felt almost...pinned. “If you're an adult and so much smarter than us _kids_ , why can't you stop a _kid_ from stealing your pants on a day that you should know is coming?”

He opened his mouth to retort, but she actually had a fair point there. Instead he let his nose touch hers, barely, and he tightened his grip on her waist. Goddess, when had she gotten this curvy? Still, he knew he was bothering her, and it served her right after knocking him down and taking his pants.

“Kiddo,” he breathed. Was she turning red? She was certainly slipping, and he hoisted her back up.

“Asshole,” she murmured back, but her heart didn't quite seem into it. Her hands fell to his shoulders. “I was just having some fun.”

Boyd frowned; she seemed legitimately hurt. “I'm sorry.”

Mist looked at him long and hard, daring him to call her a child again, and in that moment he realized that she really wasn't a child, not even in jest. Sure, it was fun to heckle her, and she certainly could put up a fight when he teased her. But maybe now hadn't been the best time. He pressed his forehead to hers. “I'm sorry, Mist. You're not a kid.”

“No?” It was hardly more than a whisper, her breath against his lips and her arms loosely draped over his shoulders.

A terrible, wonderful realization seized him, and he pulled away just enough to look her in the eye. “No.” He did his best to look non-threatening, and he squeezed her. “You're too curvy.”

Her eyes were a bit softer. Inquisitive. Still, she had a response for him. “If you're trying to call me fat...”

Definitely a terrible thing to realize, but despite the way they teased each other, he couldn't be dishonest. “It's nice.” He squeezed again, enjoying the way she flushed. “I like it.”

“Boyd.” Mist's voice was stern, but she was tracing lazy circles on the back of his neck now, looking at him intently. “Don't lie to me.”

“I would never,” he murmured. Carefully he turned to deposit her on one of the barrels and give his arms a rest, but she was suddenly holding onto him, bare legs hooked around his own. Grinning, Boyd leaned back against the wood. Mist was still watching him. Anticipating.

She swallowed. “Never?”

“Never.”

Her fingers found their way to his hair and he couldn't help the sigh that escaped him. She was still staring at him, and after a moment she managed to stammer out a question. “H-how much do you l-like it?”

It was his turn to blush, and he craned his neck toward her, letting his fingertips spread over as much of her as he could without losing his grip. “I-it's great.”

“A-and—and do you—um—like _m-me_?”

Ashera, he could feel her breath on his lips, and he tilted his head just slightly. Briefly he wondered if he would be any good at this. Mist had both hands in his hair now and her breath caught slightly, and he squeezed her again. Her legs tightened around his. She was quivering, and he smiled, hoping that she didn't realize how nervous he was. “So much.”

Her ears were bright red, and she gripped his hair and pulled his head back slightly, enough to look him in the eyes again. “O-oh?”

“Kiss me, Mist,” he breathed. “ _Please_.”

“I-I-I don't kn-know what I'm—”

“Neither do I.”

Her mouth was suddenly on his, her legs around his waist, one hand fisted in his hair and the other on the back of his neck. She kissed him over and over again, and gradually they lasted longer, became more passionate. Boyd groaned as Mist's lips massaged his open, his tongue hesitantly meeting hers before he seized the opportunity to delve into her mouth. Her hands were shaking and she was kissing him as deeply as she could, and in that moment he realized that they absolutely could not let Ike know about this.

 


	8. In which some war meetings are held

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have given up trying to cushion this and make it longer and I am so sick of looking at it. Also I have about 9200472369402487 reports due for the end of the month at work and my colleagues are all quitting so I have no time to do anything but work and take naps.

At the next war meeting, Ranulf stood next to him, almost protectively. Challenging Skrimir to make a scene. No words were said, but Soren understood body language well enough, the way Ranulf's tail was lashing. Ike seemed to notice too, but Soren caught his hand before he could interfere, and adjusted the way he was standing just enough to nudge Ranulf's leg with his own. The cat's mismatched eyes caught his, and he stood down.

He chose to ignore the way Ranulf made excuses to lean across him for the rest of the meeting.

())CRAYOLA))>

“Is there something happening that I should know about?”

Soren was taken aback. “No? Is there something you had in mind?”

Ike shrugged. “You just...you and Ranulf seem friendly, lately.”

“I suppose.” It was still embarrassing, remembering the way Ike had found them, half-asleep and completely drunk, tangled in Soren's cloak and Ranulf's fingers (those thrice-damned nearly-sensuous _claws_ ) in his hair.

Ike didn't quite meet his eyes. “I just...”

“You think I'm being unfaithful to you? Is that it?”

 _That_ made the commander look at him. “No! It's just unusual for you, is all. To be so, um.” He made a gesture that Soren wasn't entirely sure how to decipher. “Open.” Then he looped his arms around the sage's shoulders, pressing his lips to the other man's forehead. “You let him touch you, Soren. You pull away from everyone else, and I _know_ it bothers you when people get close. It's like you have walls around you that no one can enter. Except for me, and Stefan.”

Soren wrapped his arms around his husband. “Ranulf...has made his intentions with me clear. He doesn't seek to harm me, and he certainly doesn't plan to out me to the rest of the army. He has a head for numbers, believe it or not, which benefits us in terms of money. And he is...surprisingly knowledgeable about my situation.”

“Your—”

“Goldoa.” He hadn't dared say it himself since Ranulf had told him, but perhaps this would explain more than anything else. “That's what I am, Ike. From Goldoa. He can tell, from my scent. I-it's impossible. But the more I think about it, the more I know that he's right.”

“I see.” Ike gave him a half-smile. “Your bond with him is like your bond with Stefan.”

Soren nodded, inhaling deeply. Steel-sweat-leather-grass-dust-campfire. Comfort. “Something like that, I suppose. And as much as I hate this cursed blood, it...is interesting to know. Despite its complete lack of significance.”

“I'm sure you'll find a way to make it significant, in the end.” Ike leaned down to kiss him. “I was just worried about you. It's unusual for you to go off and make friends all on your own, and with someone like Ranulf, no less.”

“He's growing on me.” Soren stepped away, straightening his robes. “At the very least, he is capable of strategy.”

“I'm happy for you, then. Keep doing whatever it is you do. I just wanted to make sure that nothing was wrong.” Then Ike chuckled. “Although I would suggest that you perhaps drink tea instead of wine, next time.”

())CRAYOLA))>

Considering that he wasn't trying to conceal his feelings at all, it was proving difficult to get a good read on Tibarn, even though he had bathed and eaten, and despite the tea Rhys had given them to settle their nerves. The hawk's heart was clouded over, a dense mix of rage and sorrow and half a dozen other emotions Reyson couldn't quite place. They had given Ike and Ranulf no set time, only indicating that they needed to clean up and rest before an official meeting was called, but even though Tibarn was sprawled out, head in Reyson's lap, it was still proving difficult to know what to say or do.

“You know that it's going to be alright, don't you?”

Tibarn didn't look at him, seemingly determined to glare a hole through the roof of their tent. “He betrayed us, Reyson. _Us_. _Phoenicis._ After three years of working to fix the relationship between our nations. After everything that happened during the Mad King's War, and the way Kilvas worked with us to help rebuild Crimea, and almost two years of being exclusively _ours_. I just—I don't—”

“I know that, Tibarn.” He leaned into the hawk's line of sight, briefly feeling the ache of _despair_ whisper through the other man's veins. It was heartbreaking, to see him in such a state. Reyson twisted slightly, curling around Tibarn as best he could. The hawk caught a length of his hair and he started fidgeting. Tibarn _never_ fidgeted. The blond caught his hand gently, squeezing. “I know. It hurts.”

A spark of anger. Tibarn sat up to glare at him. “What do _you_ know about—”

It was worth the broken bones, and in a way it was satisfying to see Tibarn realize what he'd just said. There was a bruise forming on his wrist where the bone was jutting against the skin, and despite the absurdity of it all he gritted his teeth and thanked the goddess that he'd at least remembered to hit with his non-dominant hand.

“I understand that you're _upset_ ,” Reyson hissed, getting to his feet, “but you will kindly remember that I have _lived_ your situation and then some.”

“No, I didn't mean—”

“It's not about what you meant, Tibarn.” Ashera, punching Tibarn was like punching a mountain. “I can count my kin on _one hand_.”

“Reyson, _please_ —”

“At least you were warned!” Perhaps he was overreacting, and he knew that the king hadn't truly meant harm, but grief had a tendency to resurface at inopportune moments. “My people were given no warning, no indication, _nothing_! Don't you _dare_ suggest that I don't know how you feel right now.”

Tibarn was silent for a long time, and Reyson tried to ignore the fire that pulsed through his left arm. Finally, the hawk looked up at him. “I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he breathed. “I forget, sometimes. That you can feel me. And that—the massacre—Ashera, Reyson, I didn’t mean it.”

“I'm getting my arm set.” He crouched down and pressed his lips to the other man's brow. “And when I come back, I am happy to listen to you, because you need a sympathetic ear right now. But your grief is not an excuse to lash out at the people around you. I love you deeply, Tibarn. I will always listen to you. I am here to support you as your partner. But I will not be attacked by you, no matter what sorrow sits in your heart.”

Tibarn nodded, leaning up to kiss him. Reyson pulled away, and the hawk king looked at him incredulously.

“You're that angry?”

The blond stood. “Telling me you didn't mean it is _not_ the same as apologizing, Tibarn. I'll be back.”

He felt completely bewildered, and Reyson almost considered staying there despite his injuries. But that wouldn't help either of them, and it was disappointing to have Tibarn completely disregard— _forget about—_ the most distressing event of his life.

Arm throbbing, he set out to find Rhys.

())CRAYOLA))>

Ranulf was standing next to him again, leaning on the table, his pinky just _barely_ touching Soren's. When he shifted away slightly, the cat's tail nudged his calf instead. Soren turned to glare at him, and Ranulf just grinned.

“I'm sorry, am I touching you?” His voice was low, his tone teasing.

“ _Yes_ ,” Soren replied, trying and failing to move away from the other man.

In response, Ranulf's claws found their way into his hair again, trailing against the nape of his neck. “I'll stop if you really want me to, I promise,” he purred, barely audible, “but somehow I think you don't mind it that much.”

Ike chose that moment to appear and eyed them, one eyebrow raised. Others might not have noticed immediately—and they hadn't, given Reyson and Tibarn's lack of comment—but Ike knew exactly what his hair should have looked like, and he undoubtedly recognized at once that Ranulf was touching him. Soren opened his mouth to explain, but Ranulf beat him to the punch.

“If you can get to it, there's this spot riiight behind his ear that nullifies his bad mood.” His voice was still low, his claws gentle, and Soren prayed that Ike wouldn't take this the wrong way. Thankfully, he chuckled, catching one of Soren's hands and kissing it, his other arm encircling the sage and pulling him close.

“I'm glad that you're not as afraid of people touching you,” he murmured. “It's alright.”

Ranulf and his accursed claws pulled away unexpectedly, and Soren sighed as Ike's fingers replaced them, leaning into his husband's touch. The cat's hands clapped onto each of their shoulders softly.

“We're all here, so I'll go get Skrimir.” Then, to Ike, “Save my spot; I'm not setting foot between Skrimir and Soren if he says something stupid again.”

But it was inevitable, and sure enough, Soren hadn't gotten even half the plan out before Skrimir interrupted him. At the very least, he was somewhat pleased to see the way that Tibarn and Reyson were watching, their expressions somewhere between intrigued and taken aback. And Skrimir—goddessdamned cocky, irrational, _childish_ Skrimir—was giving him an expression that bordered on _bored_.

Frankly, Soren was entirely fed up.

He leaned across the table just barely, looking the lion in the eye. Spirits came to him and he accepted, only half-ignoring their whispers and letting magic stir the air around him. Somewhere in the back of his mind, something begged to bind to him, and he felt heat coursing through his veins, aching for release. It was enough that he knew he had to let something out, so he calmly placed his quill down, letting his fingertips leave scorch marks. The room had gone entirely silent. Idiot or not, even Skrimir would understand a warning like this.

“Do _not_ interrupt me again, Skrimir.” He fought to keep his voice steady,

( _justletusinwepromisewewouldhavesuchpowerwecouldannihilatethemalljustsaythewords_ )

and thankfully it did.

The redhead stared at him incredulously, but—surprisingly—he didn't say a word, opting instead to nod.

“Good.” Ike's hand was on his back, Ranulf's leg pressed against his, grounding him. Soren exhaled softly, releasing as much as he could and clenching one fist under the table. He would need to cast after this, and wondered briefly how hard his plan would be to execute completely on his own. “As I was saying, while Ranulf and his team will sow confusion in the rear ranks, a group of hawks will carry the Mercenaries south, around the battlefield. We'll cross the river and make our way to the supply train, which also serves as—”

“The senators' camp.” That was Tibarn, and Soren took deep pleasure in the look on Skrimir's face when he made no comment about the king's interruption. “I see what you're doing. They'll panic and start messing things up.”

“Precisely. Zelgius may be a commander, but they hold authority over him. Doubtless they will request aid when attacked, and he will be forced to return to them. He is a soldier through and through, and he will not disobey an order, no matter how foolish he might think it is.” Soren made a point to look at Skrimir as he said this, and the lion's brow twitched. “Once he leaves, the front line will crumble, and you will advance. Tibarn and Skrimir will lead the charge. Speak, Skrimir, you undoubtedly have some wisdom to impart.”

The lion huffed softly. “I still dislike beorc tactics.” Then he met Soren's eyes. Determination, rather than discourtesy. “But to defeat cowards, we will use the weapons of cowards.”

When everyone else had left the tent, Ike burst out laughing. “Was that an insult? Or a compliment? I couldn't tell.” He didn't wait for the sage to respond and swept him up, kissing him deeply. “Goddess, I've never seen you like _that_ before. I mean, I've seen you make threats and use your magic without fully casting, but not to that extent. You certainly got through to him.”

“Mm.” Soren struggled briefly, but Ike held him fast.

“You looked amazing, like you would have no trouble breaking him in half.” Ike's voice dropped an octave. “It was _sexy_ , Soren.”

He couldn't hold it in any longer, and let out the weakest Thunder he could manage toward the ground. Ike yelped and dropped him instantly, and another bolt escaped, singeing the leg of a chair nearby. Soren chuckled.

“It was very empowering, thank you, but I need to burn off this extra magic _now_ , before anything else happens.” Grinning, he hauled Ike down to kiss him again. “You can show your appreciation for it later.”

 


End file.
